


surviving paradise

by theAsh0



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awesome Bulma Briefs, Child Soldiers, Dark Comedy, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Friendship, It Gets Worse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Swearing, Trust Issues, Vegebul, Vegeta being Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Violence, Worldbuilding, but also better, guko is always right, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2019-06-12 11:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 48
Words: 98,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15338988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theAsh0/pseuds/theAsh0
Summary: Skimping the lines of canon, filling the gaps of story.“I am free, and resurrecting the Prince of Saiyans is a mistake you will all rue soon enough.”So, how did we get here? And how do we get out… Character deconstruction/reconstruction with actual plot.7/6/19 chapter update 1-5, new chapter (47)





	1. Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta cant quite believe is own luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes:  
> I need to take a moment to thank over8000 and maganechan720 for their awesome work beta-ing for me. Couldn't have done it without you!
> 
> this chapter has been updated with some additions on 7 june 2019. you do not have to reread to follow the story; I did streamline the plot though. 
> 
> ps,  
> Several people have let me know they don't read first person pieces. To those people, you're missing out on a whole subgenre.. true, mostly not the best, but first person gives me some nice new possibilities . It's also only the uneven chapters, and I promise the pay-out will be worth it. you only have to hold out to chapter 85...

 

I am  _ free _ . 

Laughter spills from me, fills this little Earth valley and flows against these Namek fools around me, causes them to recoil. Then it bounces back at me from trees and hills at the far end of the clearing, treating even me to that harbinger of death. Like a child’s cry before I strike, like the city sirens blaring before I raid, like the cracks from your Earth’s core before I end it...music to my ears.

Yet before I indulge, I breathe in deeply, bask in the sun, take in the scent of life —of flowers and the wind around me, and calm my mirth. Let it never be said that I am ungrateful for this second chance, that I do not appreciate this unprecedented mistake. Reclining under a tree, I drink in being alive—Alive, yet  _ free _ ! There is nothing;  _ nothing  _ that can stand against me now. My supreme rule over this planet and the entire galaxy is not an option. No, it is a certainty. My bloody reign will span far and wide. Yes;  _ this _ is my calm before I storm. 

Then I break up once more, unable to hold in the laughter. Am I the only one who gets the enormity of the joke? “You Nameks _ messed up  _ your wish! _ ”  _

Ah, those shocked, innocent faces; what a treat! The silly creatures cannot even comprehend their own stupidity. They got their wish, but not what they wanted. Serves those stupid green slugs right. And you too, _ Human! _

What? You thought you could simply undo the damage done? Wash away the blood with a simple wish on your Dragon Balls? You’re all fools, if you do. The Namek village I killed won’t be coming back, but instead you have  _ me. _ Oh, how it must sting: to wish for those you have lost only to get the one who took their lives instead. The one you hate instead of those you love… Sweet irony never tasted better.

“That’s right.” I smirk, then bask in their reactions: shock, anger, and of course fear. Even as the surrounding wildlife returns to its soft hum, the cluster of Nameks keep their focus on me. A wise decision, and I cannot help but rub it in. “Be careful what you wish for.”

As for my wish, human? Well, I missed my chance. Got cheated out of it.  _ Murdered _ out of it. Still, it’s fine. This is better.  _ Way better. _ Do you wonder why, human?  Well, I am not sure I can explain in terms you can understand.  I guess you could say I escaped the game. Or, maybe this is a new game, but this time I shall control the rules. Heh. Maybe I won't even kill you all. Maybe I’ll have you little humans dance for me like puppets, weak and mindless fools that you are. Let you dance on strings of fear, and cut all other ties till there is  _ nothing else left _ . No, I didn't think you’d understand.

Frieza is dead. Kakarot is dead. Anything and everything that would stand against me is gone. I am not just the last Saiyan, I am the last Elite. I have no duties, no debts. No master to keep me in check, no useless third-class left to drag me down, nor a traitorous idiot at my back... I am completely free to do as I please! 

Yet before I can choose the most satisfactory course of action, you creatures again prove I’ve overestimated your intelligence —Impossible as it may have seemed! Incredulously, two up-start children walk up to me; one little bald Namekian, one near-human, and  _ challenge _ me _. _ “Vegeta! Have a little respect!” the dark-haired boy stamps his foot at me. “These people just lost their families, their Elder, their planet, and you...” He shields the other child —his Namek friend— with his body, untamed mane swirling with ki. Then he advances a step and stutters some weak cusses at me, the most stinging of which is so far is  _ ‘rude’ _ , thrown at me in a high-pitched wail. 

How amusing. Well, if anything the boy has guts, yes? This one is half Saiyan, half human; did you know? Something I would not have guessed possible little over a year ago. A crossbreed, and a healthy one at that. A creature one could nearly mistake for Saiyan, though with your genes mixed in I suppose it makes sense he has a double dose of stupid. Even if his eloquence fails him, his bravery does impress me, as did his strength did back on Namek. 

The boy might be of use to me yet. So, I simply meet his disrespect with another mad cackle. When I finally collect myself I simply lean back against my tree, and offer the child a chance to join the _winning_ side. “Ho, please! What have _any_ of these green freaks done to earn my respect, except for _dying_ _pathetically?_ ”

I smirk as the Namek adults close around the children, joining up into a large flock. The children both mumble about healing me, about resurrecting me. But I only listen to their body language, as the boy allows the Nameks to pool around him. So, he chooses these pathetic walking plants over his Prince by blood? Very well; it’s not as if I  _ needed _ him.

The Earth-born Namek fighter also joins in, inching between me and the boy. One arm stretches out to shield the children as he glowers down at me with menace. Well fuck, I thought I’d already killed this one before, but  _ fine _ . You want to unite and stand against me, like you did the first time I came to Earth? What a joke. You all are a pathetic joke to me, human. You and the Nameks are  _ weak _ . Without Kakarot to take up your slack, you’ll have no chance at all!

So be it. You’ve all sealed your fate. But don't worry, I shall be a merciful executioner. Most of you will never even know what hit you. Well, this lot will of course, I am going to make them suffer. They’ve  _ earned  _ it. 

Tension rises to new heights as this ragtag team of misfits drop down in defensive stances, aware that battle is imminent. I just smirk up at them, still reclined under my tree. Yes, there’s a lot of them; must be around a hundred altogether. Yet I’m not worried. I’ve faced worse odds; taken more lives than all these so-called warriors put together. For them to defeat me would be like ants taking down a lion. 

A ridiculous concept, until you have felt a swarm of killer ants come for you. Did you know, human, that there are worlds where thousands upon thousands of workers will throw themselves at an enemy to save their queen? Being swarmed again and again for hours on end is... not a pleasant memory. And these human fighters, there’s a reason I ganged up with them on Namek. They are tenacious... No, I  _ will not back down! _

“Right, right!” a high voice calls. The owner’s silhouette steps between us as she claps her hands. “Let’s ease up on the testosterone, boys!”

It’s her again. Blue hair and a tattered yellow-black jumpsuit; she puts her hands on her hips with an air of authority as she turns to face me. You know her; that woman that nearly had a heart attack when I cornered her on Namek. Yetnow, she gives me a radiating smile. “I bet we’ll all get along better after a meal and a hot bath.”

“Tch.” She is of no consequence; not a warrior. Her fearlessness compared to how she acted on Namek still has me wrong-footed, but I dare say her lack of respect will come to bite her in the tail-end soon enough. I turn my nose up at her and return my focus back to the child. 

Yet he too has been distracted. The newly appointed Namek Elder stands between us, his back to me and both his green-clawed hands rest on the half-breed’s shoulders. “Please do not seek a quarrel for us, Gohan our roots are all connected; thus, fighting _ for _ us will only  _ hurt _ us in the end.”

I try to keep my relaxed posture, torn between the need to unleash the buildup of adrenaline and the more tactical part of my brain warning me to bide my time. The half-breed child talks softly, but I can make out the elder’s answer. “—and yet severing this one would hardly bring them back…”

Fuck. The audacity! The very idea has me to my feet, shaking with rage.  I’m just about to begin my journey towards galactic subjection, and this _ talking plant _ thinks to show me mercy? Like I am a common criminal? Like I’ve committed some  _ crime? _

Well, fuck them. I’m worth  _ more; _ So much more that their death at my whim was my right. My gift, to those villagers; my  _ mercy _ . I’ll prove it, too. Prove my strength; unleash the boiling lava in my veins. The half-breed might well be the closest thing to a challenge Earth has left. Next, we’ll pit the last of the Saiyans against the last of the Nameks and  _ see who wins.  _ My survival will prove me right, make my word law. 

And this pathetic Elder gets to go first. I’ll shoot him right through his stupid back, because he just relinquished his rights to a honorable death. Fucking weak windbag thinks he’s better than me? Well, I’ve got a surprise for you right here. Gathering my ki in one hand, I step forward.

Or, at least I try. The ki pulls like heavy syrup, drips through my fingers almost as fast as I can accumulate it. When I step forward, I stumble and almost fall to my knees. I freeze, move back to lean back against my tree once more, and surreptitiously check if anyone noticed. It doesn't seem so; all attention is on the Elder right now. So I turn my attention inwards and try to discern what is wrong. 

As soon as I do my stomach groans at me in angry, empty resentment. Food. What was the last time I ate? I cannot even remember. I’m spent; at the end of my reserves. Beneath the euphoria; the thrill of finally bringing about the tyrant Frieza’s end and coming out the winner, there’s nothing left but a bone-weary ache. Death has not cured my exhaustion, has not sated my hunger. Suddenly the woman’s offer is enticingly seductive; the promise of a meal ahead is the last thing keeping me standing. 

No, fighting right now is hardly to my advantage. I should at least wait until I am replenished. After all, this time my hubris could cost me more than just my tail. Yes, I think I’ll just stand here as the woman joins in the useless discussion on roots.  It foolishly distracts them and overcomes any self-preservation instincts, but I think they just mentioned food, “and water and air. These we call first tier needs,” I hear the elder lecture.

_ “Feh.”  _ Tilting my face up to the sun, I relax just slightly and let the humans and Nameks chatter around me. When considered objectively, my streak of luck is inconceivable.  The two greatest warriors in the galaxy have ended each other, leaving me as the new undisputed number one. Somehow I’ve been transported to this lush green world, whole, alive, and…

The Super Saiyan may have gone down with planet Namek, but:  “you can easily fix this with your magic”, I explain with a half-raised hand, confused that none see what’s in front of them. As for me, I wouldn't mind fighting that oaf of a Saiyan again. It was great fun. An honest fight; refreshing. There is a poetic justice in someone so simple ending one as twisted and deceitful as Frieza. Odd, perhaps, that he could succeed where I failed. Yet there is little reason to fear that third-class. I beat him once, I can do it again.

“You really  _ are _ smart!” The blue haired woman that praises me, odd thing she is. I cock open a lazy eye as she flutters my way, and I resolve to blast her head off if she adds ‘for a monkey’ to her words. But I am left waiting for it. Perhaps she really does think I’m clever. 

She’s right. though. I am smart. Smart enough to know I got lucky by  _ not _ getting my wish. Lucky to have Frieza lose his patience and kill me; lucky to have been resurrected and moved to a planet with no possible way of getting tracked here. I’ve effectively faked my own death, fulfilled my life’s goals, cleared my debts and gone straight to a paradise that’s just begging to be taken.

All I need to do is recuperate, bide my time and,..

_ I did not get my wish, but I got what I wanted. _

_ I am free. _

  
  
  
  
  


**Special thanks to my betas over8000 and** **meganechan720**


	2. Self Esteem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, this is what we came all this way to pick up? Master Frieza does like to.. collect... does he not?"  
> The pink ball chuckled softly and stretched up from his perch, nearly reaching the ceiling as he did so. "One more for the exposition de raretés. Does it matter, Zarbon?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, special thanks to my beta’s over8000 and  meganechan720
> 
> You’ll pardon me skipping disclaimers. And stuff. Seems pointless.

**** The two figures that welcomed the five year old prince aboard Frieza's ship dwarfed father's biggest bodyguard. One was tall and well-built, with blue smooth skin and a long braid of green hair. His green eyes held a haughty expression, his figure and hair adorned with gold silver ornaments. The other one would be best described as a pink pockmarked ball.

‘Welcomed’ might not be the best word, Vegeta considered, as he stood at attention. No, the pink one lounged against a docking port wall; his expression like that of a lazy cat considering if a certain mouse was worth getting up on his feet for. As for the blue one, its feigned indifference masked a fire Vegeta didn't quite understand. For the first time in his life, Vegeta had a foreboding. And that foreboding told him that he might well be out of his depth. 

The Saiyan prince did not swallow, did not lose his military pose. He did not even stretch his hand to fidget with the hem of his cloak, for his father had warned him to be respectful and professional. Vegeta did reconsider his chipper manner from before. Perhaps claiming the  _ "Crown Prince of Saiyans has arrived and is reporting for duty _ " was not as professional and witty as he had thought it would be…

The blue alien’s gaze slowly darkened further. After a long pause it advanced on him with a tug at his braid and half a sneer on his lips. It looked down at him as if he was a piece of feces stuck to the sole of his boot. "So, this is what we came all this way to  _ pick up _ ? Master Frieza does like to..  _ collect.. _ **.** does he not?"

The pink ball chuckled softly and stretched up from his perch, nearly reaching the ceiling as he did. "One more for the  _ exposition de raretés. _ Does it matter, Zarbon?"

"I prefer the _ taxidermy pieces.  _ They are  _ less work _ ," Zarbon waved a hand. "less of an.. Aaah.. o.d.e.u.r. as well…"

Okay. That was a lot of big words, but Vegeta knew when he was being insulted. He drew himself up another inch. 

"I am the  _ Prince _ of Saiyans, and here by _ official invitation _ of _ Frieza _ . If I am not  _ welcome _ here, however, I will be _ happy  _ to _ return home _ ." And that was the truth. Sure, it was supposedly a great honor to be picked for Frieza's elite troops, and Father had stressed that Vegeta would be in the right place  _ 'for when the time was right'  _ \- whatever that meant. YetVegeta had been quite happy on Vegeta-sei, with his people. At least they knew how to appreciate him.

A small smirk passed over Zarbon's features. Like he realised he knew something Vegeta did not, but it was quickly replaced with a stern look. "First of all, please refrain from talking back unless I ask a specific question. Second, even if I wanted to risk Frieza ever  _ remembering _ and  _ asking _ for you… the only way off this ship for you is through the dumpster. Do not think I am wasting any pod-ships on you, child."

Vegeta balled his fists to stop himself from quivering in front of these two fools. They might just mistake it for fear. Power was the one defining measure of respect in Saiyan culture, as he knew it would be on Frieza's ship. These two were obviously strong, and obviously considered of high rank  —ranked higher than any of those few elite Saiyans aboard. So Vegeta supposed even a prince such as he should show deference. Yet he too, if not by position alone then for his power, deserved his measure of respect: "I am not a _ child! _ "

"Fine," the blue one sneered, "a toddler. In the name of Cold, Dodoria, what are we supposed to do with it?"

That did it. With an angry stamp of his foot, Vegeta crouched down. It was more habit than actually a fighting stance, but it usually served to intimidate. "I am a  _ Saiyan warrior _ and born with the _ greatest power level _ in a  _ thousand years _ . I have been on _ countless _ missions with Father and.-"

"I will make an exception, _child_." Zarbon ground out, suddenly up so close their noses nearly touched. He spoke in a low, soft tone Vegeta instinctively recognised as _very bad news._ "I will make an exception because I know _children_ are _slow_ , and _monkey children_ will naturally be _even slower_. But I usually only give _one warning_. And I try to keep that _subdued_ enough to land the culprit _in medical_." The slender creature hulked over him and moved a strand of his hair aside in a tic-like gesture. "If I need to give a _second one_ you land in _the morgue_ , understand?"

Despite what these creatures thought, Vegeta was far from stupid. He spluttered, his pride half a step in front of his brain. He knew the truth when he heard it, had heard his own father use that voice and kill whoever failed to comply right away. These creatures were not related to him, nor were they sworn to serve his father. They would  _ not _ show mercy.

As for his chances in a fight, Vegeta did the math; he was five. He might have been born with the highest ratings in a thousand years, but he would need several years still to become the strongest of his kind. He supposed he’d need several more to outclass ones such as these two. Several years  _ alive. _

Vegeta opted for half a nod, but it did not seem to placate Zarbon. The alien still leered down at him, as if looking for one more excuse to just blast him into the next dimension. Dodoria cleared his throat. "I forget. When monkeys say ' _ countless' _ , do they mean  _ four _ or  _ five _ ?" 

If it was not for Zarbon's stare, Vegeta would have growled. Right now he was transfixed, like a deer caught within the sights of a tiger. Which was ridiculous. He was a tiger too. Just a... _ smaller tiger _ . So, it was more like a cub caught in the sights of a hungry, really nasty tiger...

"Oh,  _ come on  _ Zarbon. He's not  _ that _ bad. In fact, he's kind of cute. Why don't we make him the ship's mascot?" Dodoria tried once more.

Vegeta's eyebrow twitched, and he broke with Zarbon’s gaze to glare at the pink blob. When he looked back up, Zarbon's angry glare had been replaced by light amusement. "Oh, _ please _ . He's _ too ugly _ . Though I suppose he's small enough. Aren’t Saiyans supposed to be bigger?"

"Hn," the fatty answered, "but if he's Saiyan at least he will be tough. We can let the grunts practice on him?"

By now the blue alien was shaking with mirth.  _ Oh, by the red planet, this could not be happening. _ Zarbon crossed his arms, relaxing as he quipped. "He'll end up dead or maimed soon enough. I may disagree with Frieza's tastes, but I think neither of us want to risk scratching his new toy. Not without good reason at least..."

The pink one tutted. "Well. I guess he looks kinda like an upside-down toilet brush. So I think he might fit…"

" _ Read my power level." _

Just like that, the joking manner was gone from both aliens. Nearly identical cold stares turned to him, bringing home that  _ neither _ appreciated being interrupted and  _ both _ had enough disregard for life to end his for such a small transgression. Where the pink giant decided against such actions once again, Zarbon was less reserved. He moved forward, hoisted the prince up by the front of his armor and warned him with a growl. 

But Vegeta did not care. He'd rather die now if they thought he'd play janitor to these monsters. He'd rather not die at all though. "If you'll...  _ permit _ me… just read my power level."

"Oh, Zarbon. Come on, why not?" The rounder of the two laughed and scrolled through his scouter's settings, joviality once again returned. He even made happy sounds of appreciation;  _ oohs _ and  _ aahs _ that Vegeta chose to take as sincere.

_ See? _ Vegeta crossed his arms. A smirk pulled at his lips as Zarbon released him to set his own scouter, obviously curious.

"Is he truly that amazing, Dodoria?" Zarbon asked, then found the right menu, finally giving a disgruntled "hn."

It was a begrudged admittance, but obviously not even Zarbon could deny Vegeta’s power. Yes; the crown prince of Saiyans was pretty amazing. He was past the level required for an elite Saiyan warrior at just five years old, and growing by the day. 

Pride returned for half a second before Zarbon went back to mocking him. "We have stronger monkeys aboard right now."

Once more Dodoria defended him. "Ah, but he is a child still. I think he's supposed to grow. That's what the monkeys do, right?"

Vegeta decided the question was addressed to him. "We are the _ greatest warrior race!  _ Saiyans grow stronger with  _ every battle! _ " Technically only the ones that got you near killed, and that was not a thing that had ever happened, or was likely to occur soon. But Vegeta liked to gloss over such details.

"Feh." Zarbon ground out, although he seemed less likely to blast Vegeta for this transgression.

Dodoria shushed him excitedly. "Oh, it’s _ nice, _ kid. _ Now read mine _ ."

"I know you are stronger," Vegeta scoffed, "but as you said I -"

_ "Read it." _

So Vegeta did, punching the commands into his own headpiece. His eyes widened as the numbers flew past his own, past that of his father, and past what was the highest recorded level for any Saiyan warrior, and then crept past an extra digit mark and up.

Dodoria's loud laughter nearly dropped him to his knees. "Great job though, kid. You must have worked _ really hard _ to get that strong!"

"Meh," Zarbon mused. "I suppose we can put him with the new recruits and see how long he lasts."

"That's the  _ spirit! _ " Dodoria guffawed. "See! We are all getting along great  _ already! _ "

If that was a question, Vegeta could not have answered if he tried.

  
  



	3. Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capsule Corp is awesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been approved as readable by beta’s over8000 and meganechan720!  
> (update 7 june 2019)

When the rabble of Nameks finally makes it down the airship’s ramp and I get my first glimpse of where we are to stay, the Elder in front of me finally stops his incessant stream of words. I suppose he means to express his delight in finding the offered lodgings better than expected. But the way he stands gaping, flapping his jaw like a fish out of water is downright pathetic. “It’s..”

“Beautiful!” A Namek child laughs, skipping past us. Kakarot’s half-breed too zooms by, squealing happily as they run and fly around gardens fit for a palace. Behind a tableau of well-kept gardens and immaculate forrestation stands a majestic dome marked with a grand ‘C’. The structure looks like a hub with industry and business going on behind every window I spot, yet the walkway from which we enter is clear of staff and workers. Only animals and residentials come through here, it seems. And plenty of the first of those too, judging by the strange creatures that regard us stoically as we pass. Are they some manner of pets?

At the great doors, the Elder turns towards the woman with a self-conscious smile. “Lady Bulma did not mention she was royalty!”

She laughs, pretending to be embarrassed, and crouches down to pick up a furry little creature that had ran up to welcome her as soon as the doors opened. “Oh, I’m not. My family _ is  _ the richest on the planet though. So as you can see, we have plenty of space to house you all.”

“Hn.” I put in, trying to bring home the fact that I am not impressed. Not impressed by far. I have demolished more pretentious palaces, stomped through more cultured walkways, crushed better maintained weeds under my great Oozaru feet. Yet the cultured flowerbeds and manufactured ponds do make a liar of her. These are royal gardens, and their purpose is to overwhelm us visitors. Opening her home to me may be a gesture of good will, or a show of force; I have yet to conclude which. As I said, I am hardly impressed. But I will tread carefully. 

The Elder, oblivious to plays of power, points at a window as we move through the corridors: “Earth still has true woods; that I’d live the day to see such, even if not on Namek!”

I snort at the fool, but the woman is the one to set him straight: “Oh  _ no!  _ This is just our garden. If you want, I’ll take you around to a real forrest. They’re a lot fuller.” 

She throws her hair over her shoulder and gives me a short glance. I notice that she has blue eyelashes and blue eyes as well.. What an odd creature. But just as quickly she faces forward and marches ahead of the hundred creatures that filed in behind us, moving towards the end of the oppressive corridor. “I am sorry about your planet..”

“Perhaps it was inevitable..." The Elder sighs. "We’d already lost so much; failed to protect our trees when it mattered,.. Working the fields to bring them back might have been plugging a broken damn..”

“Fah!” I growl, no longer able to keep my peace. “What a waste of time! If you lot had spent your time learning to fight instead of _ gardening _ , perhaps you might still have had a planet left to grow your pathetic trees on. Not to mention that  _ fat mountain  _ of an elder and his dragon balls.”

The new Elder trips and turns away, his skin a pale lime green, and the woman snaps at me with an intake of breath. "Vegeta!"

Yet, I’m at the end of my patience. Only a fool would worry about trees when faced with survival. You’re supposed to worry about yourself. Make sure you’re strong enough; able enough to push your own needs to the forefront. Oh, what a coincidence...The strongest person alive now is  _ me _ , and I do have some needs. “Where’s that  _ bloody food  _ already?”

Bulma blinks,  taps her chin with a finger, then shugs and opens the door at the end of the hallway we’ve reached. “Right in here.”

From the doorway a plethora of aromas assault us. As does a strange, blonde woman, who teeters towards us with an unnatural amount of enthusiasm. 

“Welcome,” she starts, taking the furry thing from Bulma smoothly as a waterfall of words spill from her. But she is derailed when the Elder Namek holds up his hand. "I am afraid we do not require more than water and sunlight. I am sorry if we've caused you work."

The blonde looks as shocked and outraged as any sane person would be at this,  but any misconception I might harbour about her mental health quickly falls away as that maniacal smile zeros in on me. She latches on to my arm like some manner of octopus and guides me towards the table, throwing phrases my way like:  “What a healthy young man,” “Must have quite the appetite” and “After such a grand adventure.” The nonsense and drivel just keeps on spewing from her. It is unnerving, but I tune her out the moment a plate in front of me is piled up with nourishment, and I can indulge in dinner.

Dinner… That’s an understatement. Apparently the woman had actually meant to feed a hundred Nameks, though I doubt a hundred of them could be seated at this table, nor fit into the kitchen adjourning. Yet It is bigger than one would expect for a normal family home, and the table is stacked with enough food to fill ten Saiyans. And not with some cheap-ass rations or something, human. No; amazing, crunchy, home-cooked foods. Meats and curries and sweets. Flatbreads served with dips, fowl and fish seasoned to perfection. 

I’m not familiar with most of them, and some strike me as disgusting; like the white worms of dough floating in soup. But the smells give it away; it’s all delicious. My favourite right this moment are the balls of deceptively simple pastry, wafting aromas that entice one to just bite down to surprise you with meats and sauce inside...

I cannot remember ever enjoying the simple act of eating as much as tonight, but if I did it must have been before I left Planet Vegeta. Nappa always did complain my palate was spoiled and I was too picky an eater. Well, I don't intend to take that traitor’s advice again, but I will make up for any meal cut short tonight. These sweet spoils of victory are only my just reward, long overdue.

Too bad the food is accompanied by constant chattering from the blond. Oh, you’d think I was used to the constant flow of words from my scouter channels do you? Well, yes, I guess I didn't even notice it after a while. But the silence I’ve had since destroying it has been so tranquil... I’m not sure I can deal with such jabbering again. No; I refuse to even try.

I offer little in the form of replies. I warn her twice that I will be likely to blast her if she keeps talking, but the woman seems to be  _ amused _ by the concept. Other humans flutter in and out of the kitchen, yet those lucky bastards only get a cursory greeting as they pile up a plate and run off again. I consider taking a dish off somewhere out of her reach as well, but I would need more than I can carry to sate my appetite.

I gesture at the blue haired one frantically; warning her to get this creature away from me. Surely, she wants this woman alive. This is her mother, I think? Right? She’d want her mother to live another day… I think?

Infuriatingly, the bitch grins at me sweetly, and waves. “Bon appetit, Vegeta!”

She smiles, and turns from me with a plate of her own, only half-full. “I’m sorry I don't have time to chat now, I have to settle the other guests. But my mother will be happy to keep you company.” And she’s out of the kitchen.

Oh, obviously the mother wants to keep me company. Thanks for that. Who would have guessed? The blonde likes nothing better than throw words at me, so it seems. Now, there was a time when I was capable of handling the constant bickering of a whole squad in my ear, but now that I’ve been without teammates, and without PTO poison in my ear a while... I have to say silence can never be overrated.

When I give the woman a third warning she flutters her eyelashes and says something about wishing she was twenty years younger. I decide at that point I am done with dinner, and stand abruptly. The food she cooked was amazing, therefore it would have been a waste if I had to carry out my threats. Yet we have reached that moment where I can no longer vouch for my actions. I think I’ll go out into the garden instead, and enjoy the incoming twilight. I’ve always found flying from the lit side of a planet to the dark calming, but staying stationary while the planet’s natural rotation does it for me would be a novelty.

The woman, finally silenced, blinks at me, yet recovers before I even make out of the room. “Oh, I apologise! You must be exhausted. I’ll show you to your room right away!” She guides me to an airy open room, drapes fluttering around open windows, and shows me the side-room that hold my own toilet and cleansing facilities. When she leaves after explaining the facilities, I close the door and try out the shower. 

It is divine. I mean, you humans may be lazy weaklings, but you sure do know how to enjoy the finer things in life. First the food, now combining getting clean with hot water? I’m beginning to think you lot will indulge in pleasure in everything you do.

I take my time getting clean and warm, then even more time figuring out the human clothing left for me. It doesn’t stretch and it’s held together with buttons and zippers, but it’s hardly rocket science and the dark pants with a blue shirt are at least in my colors.

When I am finally done I wipe away the condensation from the mirror and give myself a good look. I cannot help but grin; ho, but it’s perfect! The clothes don't just fit, it’s like they were designed for me. My physique; fah, I can hardly believe I didn't realize it before. Yes, I’m nearly thankful for losing my tail right now, because for once in my life.. I’m going to fit in  _ perfectly _ . That’s right. I look  _ human _ . 

When I open the door again, chuckling to myself, I am met with an unwanted surprise. The mother is still here. She closed the window and curtains, put on a light, and is fussing with the coverings of a giant square flat pillow. She smiles back at me when I enter and continues on, clueless to my unwelcoming glare: “I hope the bed will be to you liking. It’s my favourite brand, but I’m thinking now you might find it a little soft.”

She moves back, eyes closed in a wide smile, and places her hands in front as if waiting for something. I sneer back for a full minute before hazarding a guess as to what might be expected of me. With trepidation, I carefully move forward and put a hand on the sheets, pushing down a bit. The bed groans, and I nearly wince at the sound before I realize it might not be meant for this kind of small-point pressure, and ease off.

It makes another squeaking sound when I let go, and if I had not known where I saw such a bed before, I certainly remember now. In a brothel. It all makes sense, doesn't it? Of course, you humans  _ would _ join sex with sleeping. Why not? Joining pleasure with necacity again. Again, I applaud your creativity to indulge, but.. is this woman soliciting me? I have to repress a shudder at the thought. Nappa will probably roll over in his grave for me turning down the first thing with tits in over a decade, but.. she just freaks me the fuck out!

It’s my first day on Earth and I’m already missing my pod. I clear my throat. “I think I’d like to.. step out for a bit first?”

The ditz —Buggy? gushes at me about her marriage some more, then eventually comes around to the relevant information. “Your green friends are in the recreation room, I bet they’ll be happy to see you!” 

I snort at her.  _ No they would not.  _ They’re not quite  _ that _ stupid.

“Or you could go into town; it’s right down the road. If you’d like, I’ll lend you a car. Or, I’ll drive you there myself. Some people act surprised about this, but I’m actually a pretty decent driver…” She keeps on chatting, not even noticing as I stand and then reopen the window. 

I smirk at my reflection in the glass as I levitate through. Here’s hoping for an actual crowd to blend into. I’ll be that proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing, and I’ve finally found the kind of backwater that wouldn’t know this famous wolf even if he did show up with armor and scouter attached. Or, well.. let’s not test that theory. 

Only as I speed off do I hear the mother's high-pitch calling after me, telling me: ”have a good time!”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please review! or say hi if you enjoyed. or even tell me if you didn't. writing to learn; so without feedback posting is pointless!


	4. Respect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meeting Frieza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta’ed over8000 and meganechan720! thanks a million!!!

 

His sixth birthday had come and gone before Frieza finally remembered his little ward, and Vegeta had just about given up on ever meeting the damned lizard. Things were not really that bad. A very small selection of recruits stayed on Frieza’s personal battleship where they trained and were instructed in a rather strict regime of lessons, practice, and publicly beating the snot out of each other. 

That last part seemed to be the only form of entertainment onboard, and depending on your opponent it could either end badly, or with a lot of fun.

So far, the biggest difference from home was that he was surrounded by other students. And, of course, how said students looked: odd, alien creatures, all snobs, and all ridiculously powerful. Monsters, really. 

Monsters, and mostly more powerful than him. That stung.

Vegeta had told himself this was due to him being the youngest recruit. And this selection of his peers was special, somehow. Every odd creature here was either royalty, a prodigy from their people, or both. 

Of course Vegeta had been part of similar groups in the past. He remembered some unnamed Saiyan children in the outdoor nursery, twice his size but wide-eyed with fear when they looked at him. Later, after he had proved himself by fighting free of that place, he had been made to spend time with other elite children. But, even though had been the youngest in that group as well, he had far outclassed his peers, both in strength and in fighting skill. He had never been one of  _ them _ ; their company provided fearful admiration and praise at best.

Out here, every one of his peers came from a background like his. Although none were Saiyan, all wielded the kind of power that made Vegeta feel like an actual child. So it was a small change, but one rather important to his ego. 

Another worrying detail was the fact that whenever the instructors felt he required special attention —on account of not having participated in previous lessons, they would do this thing amongst themselves where they’d whisper and then shrug. Then they always concluded: ‘Well.., we’ll get to that after...’

Like there was little point in putting any effort into him for now. Like there was some ultimate test waiting, for him to prove himself worthy..

So, when the summons finally came, Vegeta was more nervous than he liked to admit. The question of  _ ‘after what’ _ seemed ridiculously clear now. So he made the trip across decks from his own quarters to Frieza’s throne room. 

As he walked, he practiced his new-  and quickly becoming his favourite - pastime: cursing his father and his naive plots.

_ In the right place… make it trust you…  _ Vegeta scowled at the memory. 

His father had seemed so powerful and smart back home. But here, he would just be a lowly soldier. The king’s power level was that low, or the monsters here were just that strong.

Either way, King Vegeta’s boast of becoming the next ruler of the galaxy seemed just that: a stupid, unrealistic boast. 

Vegeta could only lament where these boasts had gotten him until he reached the giant twin doors, and they opened to him all too fast. But he did not pause, and with an even tread the young prince entered the wide throne room, and  even managed a dramatic billowing of his cape. 

Any doubt he might still have held over the seriousness of his situation quickly dissipated. Almost every being aboard the ship was here; sitting, standing, or lined around the walls. Yet it was eerily quiet.. At the far end of the room hovered a small throne he knew held the tyrant, but he was so far away that it was hard to be sure. The walk down the empty space kept clear just for him was uncomfortably long on his short legs, even at a brisk march. Not for the first time, Vegeta cursed his small stature. 

This was ridiculous; the number of people here was disproportionate for a gathering such as this. Vegeta was sure he saw Ginyu, Dodoria, and about every other elite soldier he had heard about or met in these last few months. Of course, Zarbon stood at Frieza’s side. The fact that he was practically beaming frightened Vegeta more than he would like to admit.

When he considered himself to be close enough to Frieza, Vegeta stopped, but the collectively held breath from the crowd told him more was expected. A salute probably would not do, so he opted for a stiff bow. 

“You asked for me my… ah.”

_ What was he supposed to call this creature anyway? _ Father used to refer to him as ‘that stinking powerful lizard’. High praise from the king, but he knew better than to repeat it. The recruits usually went with ‘tyrant’, but only in hushed voices. King Vegeta was usually referred to as ‘my Lord’...  but not by other royalty. Then again, standing was derived from power, and if the tyrant was as strong as Vegeta suspected...

Help came from the most unexpected place.

Zarbon’s face had practically split in two from his toothy smile as he realized the young Saiyan’s predicament. “Oh,  _ allow me _ !” 

The blue giant disappeared from its spot at the tyrant's side and reappeared, hulking over the small prince. One powerful hand dropped down on him and Vegeta only managed to save his nose with a twist of the head before he impacted with the ground. His cheekbone groaned in protest as the pressure on his head intensified. 

“This, right there, is your  _ Lord and Master _ . You filthy monkeys are not worthy to kiss the ground he walks on. But I guess right now, you will get your chance to do just that.” 

The elite warrior was rambling, surely. But right now Vegeta was torn between the humiliation of his first public appearance and the very real possibility of having his skull crushed. He clawed feebly for the hand twisted in his hair, but every time he managed to brush it, the braided monster just pulled and slammed his head down hard. “Go on. Kiss it.  _ Kiss it! _ ”

He was going to die here. Whatever they wanted from him made no sense, and his eye socket was pressed so tight to the ground that he could not have complied even if he understood. Mortification at the situation and fear of death battled for a prime place in his mind as he struggled.  _ This can't be happening.  _

Then, with a tear at his scalp, the pressure was gone. 

Vegeta struggled to his knees, cradling his swelling eye and a pounding skull. He was missing a patch of hair, he was sure, and his cheekbone was likely cracked. He knew he had a concussion _. Yet  _ the pain fell away quickly when the small prince raised his eyes. Where Zarbon had stood a moment before, the little pink lizard stood now, one foot still raised from his kick. Vegeta quickly followed the trajectory to a Zarbon-shaped hole in the wall.

Yes, Vegeta had known Frieza would be stronger even than Zarbon; would be the strongest of anyone on board. Yet the scale in power was unimaginable, impossible. Vegeta could practically feel the waves of power coming off the the little creature. In that moment, the tyrant looked like a god to Vegeta.

“You really  _ are  _ that powerful, aren’t you..? Lord Frieza.”

Vegeta knew how to lie. He had also learned quickly how to shower fake admiration on those more powerful than him, knowing soon enough he would surpass the fools and they would meet their dues. This time, however, there was nothing fake about the admiration in his voice or the shine in his eyes. All Saiyans craved power. Mostly for themselves, but they knew how to respect it in others.

The tyrant tsked, unimpressed. “Fah. This is not even an inch of my true power. If I were to use it, I’d blow this ship apart by mistake and kill you lot. It's happened before so I try to be careful.”

However when the creature looked down on the prince, there was no mistaking that pleased smile tugging on his lips. “I guess some monkeys do know how to appreciate perfection, though. Never mind Zarbon. He gets a little jealous. So, you are Vegeta's little boy.”

Frieza did not seem bothered at all that the little Saiyan just stared up at him with his mouth slightly agape. “His son, Vegeta. Named after the planet Vegeta. You monkeys  _ do _ have your way with  _ names _ , don't you?”

Vegeta snapped his mouth shut, something within the depths of him stirred. “It is a title given to only the strongest…”

“-Yes, I know. And you were born the strongest in a thousand years. The rumored legendary Super Saiyan to be…” The lizard pulled away the hand Vegeta had cradled over his bruised eye and stared at him intently, looking for something. “And you are the spitting image of your father. No chance of a switch of identity, that is for sure.”

Vegeta tried for his pride. “Saiyans are bred for battle. We grow stronger every time. We will grow. I will grow- ”

 

_ To unimagined heights. _

_ Until you are the Super Saiyan, my boy. _

_ And then we will defeat the tyrant lizard, together. You and I. _

 

These things seemed impossible right now. The Super Saiyan was a legend, likely just a tale. This creature here was a  _ god _ , and right in front of him. 

“I dreamt of the Super Saiyan once you know.” The lizard smiled, fishing out Vegeta’s thoughts like a mind-reader and stirring his faith like an oracle. “But he looked nothing like you,” it continued, cutting the wings off a dream that was hardly ready to fly.

Vegeta swallowed as the lizard patted him affectionately, right on the lump on the back of his head. “I think I'll keep you.”

It hurt.

  
  



	5. Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta, meet Society

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to meganechan720 and over8000 for beta work!

The town is but a minute’s flight away, and I land to walk as I investigate. Most houses are dark or sparsely lit, but some establishments emit light, billboards and lit-up text in some human language I cannot read but universally understand. 

The dwellings have little likeness to the facilities that had sprung up around Frieza’s planetary bases. Everything here is obsessively ordered with real roads, light and signs helping what little traffic there is about safely on its way. The houses are made of concrete and suggest comfortable living quarters inside. Only after walking over five minutes, do I find the first and only homeless person. His shoes are tattered and he wears an old coat, yet he does not seem desperate or even starving.

And there’s the advertisements. Hardly something unique to your planet, human. Most any society past its stone age has billboards in some manner. But, the colorful ladies smiling down at me from well-lit walls are.. strangely familiar. Sure, I suppose a real Saiyan woman would show a bit more tail when invoking the amount of familiarity in most posters, and no Saiyan would be caught dead with the colors some of these women put in their hair. Or the paint on their faces. But if I squint… 

After a brisk walk through mostly quiet street, and congratulating myself on not turning any heads when I do encounter a pedestrian, I find a place that boasts drinks but does not have the music turned up so loud it will hurt my ears. If I had expected a seedy bar, I am 

sadly disappointed. The place stinks of cleaning materials and drink, but is awkwardly clean except for that. I decide to ignore the oddness of it. Earthlings live an easy life; this is possibly as seedy as they get. I walk straight to the bar and order a drink.

“What would you like to have?” the man asks me as several of the patrons look my way with interest. 

“Whatever you think is good,” I decide. You Earthlings certainly know your foods, so I figure you will know your drinks as well.

I am not disappointed. The drink is cold and foamy but refreshing. I chug it down and find myself grinning at a lone female next to me. She is overripe and has an abundance of paint on her face, but I am in a good enough mood to overlook this. 

“Give me something else,” I call out to the barman. 

He gives me an odd look. Like he expects something. Then sighs and poors me some clear liquid. 

It is completely different. Cold, but burns down my throat. I like this too and drain the glass. 

“Something else!” I call. 

The barman clears his throat. “Of course, but you do realize you need to pay, sir?”

I  _ what? _

The look I give him must have been clear, but the barman is undeterred. “As they say, nothing in life is ever free…”

Ah, there we go with your silly Earthling sayings again. Don't you ever get sick of them? And yet.... 

Again, the bartender pushes. “I need money before I give you more,  _ sir _ .”

Yes, of course I know about money. I didn't work in an organisation called Planet Trade Federation without knowing money is involved in trade… I just… never used any currency myself. I went on missions, I came back. Anything I needed was provided for. Anything I wanted I took. No one ever questioned this.

I eye him, wondering what will happen if I just blast this ingrate. I guess I’ll have myself another escalation on my hands pretty fast. Like the military showing after Nappa blasted that Earth town. And then the Earthling fighters will show up, the half-breed traitor.. the Nameks. Where are the human fighters anyway? A quick scan of the planet gets me nothing, so they’ll be hiding their power levels. Or sleeping? No; more like they’re following me. Could be keeping an eye on me right here, in this very bar.. was I followed? Honestly, I’ve been so giddy up until this point I didn't even check.

Is this a test? A trap! Fah, the whole bar might be rigged with human fighters I had yet to meet. Sure, I know what must have been the strongest bunch. Most of those are dead; or were. Perhaps they’ve been resurrected as well? Are they even waiting for me to reveal myself as an enemy? Perhaps all they need is me nice and drunk…

Do they know I have yet to recuperate? Can they all sense my power level? I was getting pretty good at hiding it, yet I have no intel on if it is fooling these Earthlings, that are years ahead at me in that regard. I can’t chance it; don’t have enough intel. I thought I had enough intel last time, and it went bad. Now I have nothing. Except the knowledge that you Humans do take offence at any spilling of blood even if it’s just some useless nobody.

“Ow, Gene.” The woman next to me addresses the barman and bats her eyelashes. “Never mind, I will pick up his tap.”

“No!” I growl, suddenly disgusted by the woman. Nothing for free; words I know to be true. And I’ll be damned if I build up a debt to these pathetic creatures. I just got my freedom, I’ll not lose it again. 

“I will get..” something. From somewhere. What do these people use for currency anyway?

“Ok,” the barman nods. “Can I have something for collateral. An ID? Or driver’s licence?”

I don't even understand what those are, but it doesn't even matter. I have nothing. What was your human expression? Nothing but the shirt on my back?

No, that’s not mine either.

I feel tricked; humiliated. I wonder briefly if you Earthlings have simply invented this system to catch me in it. Yet I am reasonably sure such intrigue is beyond your people. Sorry human, but you are a simple lot. It is one of your redeeming features, honestly…

With an angry growl I make the decision and pull the shirt over my head, not even bothering with the buttons. Nor do I bother with the cat-calls and comments; I stalk out the door as fast I can. Only when I am up high in the air do I allow an angry snarl.

I know where to go, but I am not pleased about it. Nothing in life is ever free..

There is only one place I can go, yet it irks me to be reduced to this. I squint angrily at the door in front of me, absurdly aware that I have been standing in a dark corridor without a shirt on for over a minute now. Somewhere, at some time, something has gone seriously awry. The whole universe should have been at my feet by now, begging. And yet, here I am, in a dark hallway, in front of the woman’s room.

I find myself considering blowing up this wretched, idiotically comfortable residence. Capsule Corp at night is as infuriatingly peaceful as it is at day. All is quiet, dark, with only a faint hum from electronics to break the night’s calm. It’s like the place is  _ daring _ me to end it.

I dismiss the idea with an angry snort and knock. 

Alright, Human. I  _ pound _ . Yet I am careful not to break that flimsy door. There is no response though, even on my second and less controlled bout of knocks.

Is she asleep? I didn't hear any snoring inside. Regardless, I would not care if she was. I require her right now, and I refuse to wait on her for another second. So I accompany my third round of knocks with an even, not at all desperate sounding command: “Woman? Woman, open up!”

I finally get a reply but from the wrong place: an ‘eep’ across the hallway. That blasted woman’s mother stares at me through a half-opened door. She fans a hand in front of her face, then makes to close the door. Just before it shuts, however, she opens it back again for a moment and gives me a hand sign: a thumb and index finger making a circle as she mouths something at me.

I think it was ‘good luck’. 

My eyebrow twitches as I look at the now re-closed door down the hall. It takes all of my willpower to stay where I am, completely still. I force the ki trying to gather at my fingertips back down, force myself not to decimate this entire planet. I start a mantra in my head to give me strength. _ Still worth the food. Still worth the food.  _

I am so distracted by this herculean effort not to kill the ditz that I completely miss the door in front of me opening until it shuts back in my face.

I curse.

“Woman, open up.”

Oddly, instead of the sass she’s given me all day, all I hear now is a nervous giggle. “Sorry. Not interested. Appreciated, but I’m ah- involved.”

I am not sure what she is referring to, but it can only be bad. An odd heat rises to my cheeks. “Woman, stop being … odd.. I just need some currency.” 

The woman babbles, all her high tones and flustered noises muffled by the door between us. I cannot understand any of it, but perhaps she is as confused as I am. I breathe deeply, and pray for patience. “I went out. I had some drinks. I was not aware I needed to ..pay.”

I press my palms against the door, willing it to open. More and more I am unsure I can do this at all, to live in this world where nothing makes sense, this place where war is a fairytale and death is fixed with a simple wish. I thought I could blend in, but perhaps I was wrong...  

It is odd. I have been dreaming of this day for so long. I always told myself I was not having fun on Nappa’s little outings between missions because I knew it for a temporary, fake freedom. And yet, on this beautiful lush world where everything I could envision and more is at my fingertips, it all still comes tumbling down. 

Thankfully, the door finally opens and the blue-haired woman stands and squints at me, dressed in a covering bathrobe. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

I am inclined to say  _ I just did _ . I would like to scream at her to at least take the edge off. But more than anything I just want this ridiculous encounter over with. So I simply cross my bare arms as she walks over to her dresser and picks out some worthless looking papers from her purse.

“This should suffice,” she says, and holds them out to me. Simple, matter-of-fact, and in command of the situation. 

I do not accept her offering. It is what I came for, but it is too easy. I know better; those little warning lights in my head flash. Where is the bartering, or at least a demand for something required in return later? How great of a fool does she take me for?

You question my reasoning, human? Do you suggest I take her gifts at face value? Yes, I have taken quite a few already, but at that point I still believed it fear to be her motivator. But it’s not. This one is not afraid of me; she does not see to my every need just for the favor of getting to live another day.  

No, this woman may be lacking in physical strength, but she and her family have obviously amassed a great deal of power. Their lack of fighting capabilities just proves they have other, more covert ways, to assert control over others. I will not fall prey to such games. Not ever again.

She seems to snatch the thought right out of my mind, proving my point in the process. “Don't mention it.”

I growl. “What?”

She shrugs. “You are welcome!”

Ah... you would call me paranoid, would you, human? But I am no fool. I know you Earthlings and your common courtesies. You use words like “thank you”, “please”, and “I beg your pardon” like they mean nothing. I know better. Words mean everything, they always do.

I consider leaving now and just letting her stand there with that outstretched arm full of green papers while  I go to my room and forget this this night entirely. To leave the innkeeper with my shirt, not that it was really mine to begin with.

Yet before I can follow through, she offers again: “It’s nothing. From what I hear, without you none of us would have made it back from Namek alive.”

I still sneer at her, unable to contemplate that anyone would so readily relinquish the high ground. Some foolish part of me even suggests that she might be sincere. She seals the deal with a weak smile. “For that, we owe you a lot more than a little spare change, right?”

I pounce on the offer and take her silly earth money. 

“That’s right, Woman. You owe me. You all owe me big! Remember that.” I turn, currency in hand, and flee before this victory can be taken from me.

  
  



	6. Confidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta wants some repute. only one way to get that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, after many edit runs and too much work from my betas I present, chapter 6. yaaay!

The biggest practice room on Frieza's ship was  _ packed! _ Divided in two, the half meant for spectators had filled up and overflowed unto the fighting area. The excited buzz from them had heightened the moment Vegeta entered.

With a confident smirk, he walked to the middle of the empty side of the room and crossed his arms as he waited. He had chosen a simple piece of armor sans cape or trappings for this, but he projected royal confidence nonetheless. Recklessly he basked in the crowd’s speculative  stares.

It had been a while since the prince had received this kind of attention, and it was not hard to admit there was some charm to it. Far better at least than sitting through tactical lessons or running the same basic drills with the other recruits. 

Frieza himself was present, his interest in Vegeta resurrected after it had dulled in these past boring months of schooling. Its white ball throne hovered at the edge of the battle area marked with white marble tiles. The tyrant looked small and idle, reclining in the dome with that lazy smirk. It resembled a horned pink iguana chick that had pecked a hole out of its eggshell, but was quite content to stay half hatched.

At its right hand, as always, Zarbon stood with a scowl on his face. It seemed to be his constant expression as of late. Or… perhaps Vegeta just had that effect on the long-braided alien. 

Vegeta also saw some Saiyans in the audience, which was a rare occurrence as it seemed they were purposely kept from him. His people did not appear happy to see him  _ here _ though, but Vegeta supposed that made sense. Even his own kind had a way of underestimating him. His peers however, were  _ ecstatic _ . Vegeta spotted the wolf-boy, the purple squid, and a few others. Boisterously they catcalled, with that half-mad glint in their eyes he recognized as staring death in the face from a little too close. 

All thought he was committing suicide. Vegeta disagreed.

Evening recruit fights were just about the only entertainment on board, yet usually the fights were of little consequence. The soldiers that came to watch got their jollies by riling up the winner into dragging things out, goading the victor into torturing the loser for their enjoyment, or playing with the unconscious body. 

But Vegeta wanted something more than a weakling to torture for fun. He wanted recognition. Vegeta was going places; straight to the top. Or, at least out of the recruit class and into active service as fast as possible… and that meant taking some calculated risks. 

So when Dodoria asked who Vegeta wanted to fight- actually asked Vegeta- he’d simply pointed at the creature in front of him. The pink alien had lowered its round face to his, confused at first. Then it had muttered something about crazy monkeys, and accepted.

Why had Vegeta chosen the ball-shaped powerhouse as his opponent ? Well, Dodoria was high enough up in the PTO hierarchy to earn Vegeta some much-needed repute. Yes, everyone on board might well agree Vegeta was a crazy monkey for doing this- perhaps the craziest monkey of all. But they had given him what he had wanted out of this: he had their undivided attention.

After today, no one would ask ‘Say are you Vegeta's son?’ After today, no one would ask ‘What is that kid doing here?’ and after today no one would ask ‘aren't you a little small for a Saiyan warrior?’. Because after today they would know of him; win or lose, he would be  _ feared _ .

As for the risk, Dodoria was actually professional, all things considered. Sure, it poked fun at Vegeta with name calling, but it did that to everyone. Also, its temper was one of short explosions and not of drawn-out pain. And as Dodoria had little to prove by fighting him, Vegeta was pretty sure that if he did lose, he’d go to the med-tanks with his pride and most of his body still intact.

But Vegeta was not counting on losing; no, he was betting on  _ winning _ this thing.

Dodoria finally entered and it walked straight up to tower over Vegeta like an elephant over a kitten. It held its wide girth over him like that for long seconds, casting a great shadow over the prince. But Vegeta held his position and smiled up casually.

The jeering shushed a little as Dodoria shook its pink head at the boy beneath him, obviously confused, and Vegeta took up a fighting stance. Perhaps it had thought to call the Crown Prince of Saiyan’s bluff by now. But of course, Vegeta never bluffed.

“Well let’s get this over with,” the elite rumbled and tightened its ham-hands to fists. 

Vegeta grunted, stepped back. And then, he stepped back again as the hulking creature swung. Dodoria turned and twisted, only slightly annoyed while its small opponent kept his distance. It even grunted in understanding as Vegeta played it safe, swinging easily and full of confidence. 

After several minutes of sparring in this manner, the giant warrior was not even winded. Content, perhaps even. But this was not the game the Saiyan prince meant to play. He had something a little wilder in mind. So Vegeta tried a different tactic. “You really are kind of slow.”

The comment didn't seem to anger Dodoria, but it did have the intended effect. “How about we step it up then?” the giant asked, its pockmarked features turning into a wicked grin as it jumped and threw an impressive number of punches. All within a few seconds. 

A few blows grazed Vegeta, but when he dropped to all fours and unravelled his tail, no more came close. This way, Vegeta traded defense for maneuverability and danced out of the way of every strike. Blocking was useless here anyway, Vegeta realised as he watched another tile broken to bits by a missed punch; if he took one of these hits, it would down him.

Running backward out from a particular nasty hook, Vegeta kept backing up until his elbow hit the moving wall of spectators. He was sweating, mostly from the thrill. And so he smiled. “Is that all you can do?  _ Shadow boxing? _ ”

Dodoria’s skin darkened from its usual pink. Without warning, it reached an arm out and shot ki at Vegeta. The crowd shrieked as both Vegeta and the spectators scrambled out of the way frantically. But Dodoria was not distracted, and its blasts followed Vegeta across the room and up the walls, with just enough care not to completely cut through the hull walls and out to space.

Dust rained down, the blast rang in his ears as he flew higher, then ran across the ceiling on all fours.  At the next explosion, Vegeta dropped down, turned quick, and took his chance. 

The slight Saiyan doubled back and closed in, hidden by the flying rocks and dust. He reached the giant’s foot and ran up, using his tail to cut sharp corners. Finally, he scaled Dodoria’s back until he reached the neck of the giant's armor. Once there, he grabbed on and flattened himself down behind the round alien’s armored shoulder blades.

After a few tense seconds, Vegeta realised that things had turned out better than he could have hoped. Thought he could see little of the pink creature’s face, the way Dodoria turned his head to the left and right as he searched the area made it obvious: Dodoria had no idea where the Saiyan had disappeared to.

As the crowd started to jeer, Vegeta could not help himself. He pulled himself up by the hem, placed a hand over his eyes, and pretended to look around as well. Then he gave a mocking shrug and blasted his best ki attack down the neck of Dodoria’s armor.

The giant screamed. The crowd whooped. He was nearly thrown as Dodoria turned, around and again, like some oversized rodeo horse. Vegeta took another shot as Dodoria’s thick arms flailed about uselessly. The monster was simply too fat to reach him. 

Emboldened, the prince shot another blast, this time in the creature’s ear, and with another scream Dodoria dropped. For a moment, Vegeta nearly crowed in victory. 

Then Dodoria rolled and Vegeta lost his perch on top of its back. He ran like a dog on a treadmill, taking a good kick at the monster’s face in passing as he evaded the grabbing fingers. On the next rotation he managed a pin-prick ki-blast, but soon he was too busy evading and running to attack further.

Then it happened; he lost traction and was raised up in the air as the round elite got back to his feet. Vegeta found himself dangling upside down with his tail in a vice-like grip. Yes, this was - of course-  the risk from the start.

“Ah, damn! You got me,” he told Dodoria as the elite’s dark-red face came into view. “No hard feelings, right?”

Yet the twitch of Dodoria’s puckered eyebrow phased Vegeta; “No hard feelings,” the giant echoed, somehow bringing home that there definitely were a lot of hard feelings. Hard, painful ones.

Well, if he was fucked anyway, he might as well make it count. Vegeta brought his arms together and released the biggest blast he could muster. It managed him a drop of at least a foot before the fist closed on his tail again. 

Then the giant turned in a pitching motion, and Vegeta sailed in an arch, following through until he made impact with the ground. The bright pain had not even died down before he moved backwards, out from the rubble and started to fly once more. His last thought was he must look like a puppet getting smacked around by an angry toddler.

When he woke up, he was floating and not hurting anymore, drifting slowly and comfortably in healing fluids. Time went by unmeasured as he bobbed, slow current moving through his hair. Sometimes his mind brushed at questions like how he had gotten here, or how the fight had ended. But then his consciousness shied away, content to stay inside this quiet isolation. 

Suddenly he was jerked awake by a muffled knock on glass. With some effort Vegeta focused his eyes on the shape outside of the med-tank; it was Dodoria. Vegeta almost misjudged the look on Dodoria’s face as a grin.

“Congratulations. Frieza was much impressed. You’ve made it into active duty.” Then Dodoria punched the glass, a little too hard; hairline cracks appeared and the giant’s features twisted into an ugly sneer. “And all you had to do was make me look the fool. But mark my words. You will pay me back in full for this.”

  
  



	7. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta is depressed, the Briefs help.  
> updated 7 june 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> betad by over8000 and maganechan720

I stare at the sky as I sit, plucking at grass in the Capsule Corp front garden. It is small compared to the back one, so staying here provides me a measure of privacy. Most of the Nameks fear me well enough to steer clear. But their new elder has tried to chat me up several times. "In the spirit of love and understanding." And to talk about plants and roots some more.

I'm reasonably sure he means well, but his behavior ticks me off, so I've taken myself out of his presence. I have declared the back gardens Namek territory, for them to practice their meditation and gardening and whatever. And I stay out in front, lest I run into any by mistake. I am trying hard enough as it is not to start trouble.

Today marks the first full week of my stay here on earth, but already my patience is running thin. I have not left Capsule Corp grounds since that first day at the bar. On one hand, I hardly feel like subjecting myself to another degrading episode due to my… inexperience with this world and its customs. On the other, everything I could ever want or need is provided for me right here; right here at my fingertips.

Which is exactly as it should be, of course. I am a prince, after all. And the greatest warrior in the galaxy, now that Frieza and Kakarot have managed to kill each other off. Which is fine; clever, in a way. To get rid of both in this manner. Yep, life is absolutely fucking perfect.

So why do I feel so... tired?  

It must be the routine of this place. The days on this planet are too short to suit me. Though I suppose the schedule I followed in my previous life —a cycle of travel in cryo-sleep for months up to years, a purge mission or two lasting a few days, then back in cryo-sleep for a debriefing and an optional few days to restart the process— doesn't really qualify as a rhythm.

Still, the monotone repetition wears on my nerves. I know I should try and adjust; rise and retire with the sun. Yet I spend more time staring at my bedroom ceiling than dreaming, and the morning light does little to rouse me into action. I feel strange: weak without any damage taken. Exhausted without wanting sleep. Numb...

I reach out for another hand of grass to pull up, but find the semicircle around me cropped to the point that I need to dig up roots. I contemplate moving to another spot to restart the process, though picking myself up seems like so much work for nothing.

Why bother at all? I could pluck the whole field bare or move around and make ugly bare circles in the perfectly cut grass. What would that achieve? Well, maybe someone would take offence. I could use someone to scream at, or have scream at me, or talk to... anything.

A sound from behind brings me back to my senses. I take it back; I really do not wish any form of interaction, and definitely not with the locals.

The grey-haired professor, apparently the man of the house, appears from the door and makes his way towards me with purpose. I groan. The old dolt had stayed clear of me mostly until now, and I had thought him the smartest of the pack for that. Perhaps I was wrong.

He walks into my periphery and clears his throat, pets the weird black creature perched on his shoulder, then stares down at me as if expecting something.

As soon as I realize what he wants, I deign not to give it. Instead, I focus my attention on the clouds overhead. There’s only a few of them, of course. Even the weather on Earth is perfect. Perfect, constant, monotone and boring. Sadly, my studious inattention is not enough to deter old four-eyes from intruding.

The grey human sighs, fidgeting in his pocket for something before sitting down. A decent distance away, but facing the same direction with an unfounded air of camaraderie. The crunch-creak of metal on a lighting stone finally breaks my resolve. “If you dare light that stinking filth in my breathing air I’ll rip your throat out.”

The man blinks at me and puts his lighter away with an apologetic smile, studying the white twig in his other hand as if unsure what to do with it. “Panchy asked me to fetch you,” he offers as appeasement. “Lunch is served.”

Blasted woman and her blasted food.

“Well, she could have just said so herself, could she not?” I grind out, “besides, do you always run to do your woman’s bidding?”

I turn from his blinking four-eyed stare and recline with a sigh. Pathetic as this planet’s gravity is, I am not up to fighting it. “Besides, I am not hungry.”

“And there it is too,” his old voice turns sure, as if I just proved some point. Opting to leave the unlit cigarette in mouth, he frowns down at me. “In answer to your question, Panchy hardly ever asks for anything. So when she does, I do run, even when I do not understand.”

I take a deep breath. “Your wife is a degenerate airhead whose only purpose would be to exemplify the useless stupidity of this planet and its main species!”

To my surprise the man laughs —laughs!— at my comments.

“She does seem like an airhead doesn’t she? Here on Earth, especially in my generation, too much intelligence in a woman was frowned upon; just as my little girl likes to play the damsel in distress, she likes to play airhead.” The man lowers his voice, and I perk up as I finally hear a threatening undertone: “But I would think that a man such as yourself knows not to take all at face value?”

I, the Prince of all Saiyans, snarl and turn on him. “I do not care for you, your planet, or any of your ridiculous mating customs. In fact, I think I’ll blow this whole planet up, right now! And there’s not a damn thing you or anyone here can do about it.”

The old man stares at me intently, before nodding and adjusting his glasses. “Is that what is bothering you?”

“NO!” Yes? Maybe? I deflate, what little energy I had gone again too soon. This man is supposed to be the richest in the world... Can’t he at least get the military to fight me? Maybe if I just blow him and his precious Capsule Corp to pieces, someone worthy will show. Probably. Possibly. 

Kakarot’s idiot friends might provide me some challenge, but the old coot just gives me a goofy grin. Unworried. Whatever. Military or stupid Z-gang, no one on this planet is worth my trouble. I can hardly make myself care if they win or lose. I lay back down, place an arm over my eyes, and repeat: “I’m not hungry.”

The old man sucks in his breath, like I had said I was dying or something, then gets up and leaves. 

Finally, some peace.

Or as close as I am able to get to it.

I find myself wondering if death would have brought that peace. I was dead before, right? But all I can remember from that time is my fervent, all encompassing wish that someone— preferably Kakarot— kill that filthy Lizard. I had not wanted to leave and had clung to that battle with all I had. The memories are garbled after death, but I think I still spoke to my fellow Saiyan. Maybe I might have had peace after that. That would have been nice.

Sadly, peace appears to be the one thing not available in this place. I recognise the crunch-step of feet on gravel, and have to stifle a groan. No torture that Hell could have dreamt up would have been as annoying and maddening as this constant string of visitors. It is the blue-haired young woman this time; the old coot’s spawn. Her voice sounds suspiciously friendly and chipper. “Vegeta? Vegeta dear, will you come and have a look at what I’m fixing?”

I don't care. “Did your father send you?”

She answers a little too fast: “No!”

I can't help but bark a mirthless laugh. Well, I can teach her a thing or two about lying. “Sorry, I am busy.”

Her unamused drawl suggests she is not that stupid, though. “I think you’ve mowed our lawn enough for a while, don't you?”

I move the arm still covering my eyes slightly so I can squint up at her. She stands over me, hands on hips, all wide open eyes and bare shoulders. Her hair up in a bun, with strands falling past her face as she bends over me. She wears a thin-strapped top over only marginally more practical pants. Yellow working gloves on her fists, an eyeshield dangling from one like an accessory. If not for the dark smudge by her nose, she’d resemble one of those girls on the square movie frame her mother likes to watch.

I can't decide if I’m more offended that she would approach me with so much bare skin to burn off, or that she can’t even be bothered to clean herself up before addressing royalty. Instead of letting my irritation show, I smirk and roll to my side, away from her. “I don't do manual labor. I’m relaxing. And as I can't manage to care about your silly projects, just run along.”

If I was hoping to bait her, I am disappointed. She stretches her arms over head as she straightens, and hums to herself, putting a gloved hand to her cheek. “That is a shame. I had thought to outdo my father’s machine. You know, the one that made Goku’s transition to Super Saiyan possible. But without a Saiyan to test it, I can hardly prove to father I’ve won our bet. Perhaps I should let Yamcha use it instead. Or Krillin. He’s pretty strong. Perhaps he could be super-human. Who knows…?” She trails off and smiles at me triumphantly. 

At some point during her speech, I have sat up to scowl at her, but she sees right through my anger to the awakened hunger beneath.“I don't suppose you could just relax inside the spaceship for a while? I kind of need to test the gravity settings before I call this one safe for use, but poor little me will get squashed by anything beyond the 3 ½ setting…” 

“Fah! Weak as you are, you’ll probably die at twice Earth's gravity.” Not to mention what would happen at, say, ten times Earth's gravity. But for me, that would be like coming home. Was this Kakarot’s secret to achieving such power? 

Kakarot... As I straighten and cross my legs, I cannot help but think of our first battle. Now, that was a fight. I honestly can’t remember the last time I had so much fun. Well, at least up to the point where his bloody friends intervened and cut off my tail. They just have no sense of propriety. But before his friends intervened...I grin at my boots. I was winning, right? Our fight is not yet finished; perhaps a rematch is in order. 

Yes, a rematch. The third-class may be dead, but here on this magic little mud-ball called Earth that does not seem to be a problem. He’ll be back. And before Namek, before his special training, he was weak compared to me, so… if I use the same methods he did, should I not be able to surpass him? After all, I was the one meant to be a Super Saiyan. Everyone always said so. I effortlessly stand, my attention on my fist as I ball it slowly and remember what I am. Who I am..

“No, no.” The woman’s voice pulls me back to the present, turning as she shakes her head. “The science is in on this. I should be able to take up to 6 gees easily, but I won't be able to stand after 3, 3 ½ tops. That’s useless for my tests though. Father’s machine went up to 100 times Earth’s gee. Mine, once tested, should be able to generate 200 gees! Oh dear,” she walks off pensively, “do you think that might be too much?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I have to run after her to catch up. “You couldn’t build something to hurt me if you tried.”


	8. He was 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> talking to daddy

King Vegeta could only intone the first sentence of the traditional royal Saiyago greeting before he was interrupted by his son. In Standard, no less. He quirked his eyebrow at the screen in front of him, the prince blown up to five times his real size on the wall-covering television in the King’s private living quarters. The boy should know better than to be so rude. But his father’s imposing figure seemed to have little effect on his son lately; probably because at the prince’s end there was just a small screen, and the King would look a lot less intimidating than in the flesh.

 

Regardless of the reason, young Vegeta seemed undeterred, and even broke eye contact to glance at something off-screen. “Sorry Father, we’re leaving in little over five minutes. Can we keep this short?”

 

The King stared at his son in astonishment and considered whether or not to scold the boy. With a heavy sigh, he thought the better of it. It was hard enough to get into contact with him as it was. “Going somewhere?”

 

“Yeah.” Vegeta’s face lit up, like it used to when Father promised to show him a new move, or read him some family history, or... “Yeah,” the boy continued, “purging  _ frigging  _ Talsaman-f32. We’re getting rid of the  _ Poon _ — giant horned wurms. They’ll make great sport!”

 

The king swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Trying for a casual, untouchable tone, he said, “I guess you’re making quite a name for yourself.”

 

The boy snorted. “I’m on a team with Cui and Midnight. Can’t really go wrong. The three of us are top of our class. We’ll clear our quadrant in record time again today. Though—” and this time the boy looked a little uncomfortable, “I’ll probably get sent on errands again anyway. Damn, Dodoria keeps a grudge.”

 

“Errands? Unacceptable!” The king called out his son. “You must explain to him that you are royalty and must be treated as such.”

 

Vegeta blinked, and the king was quite sure that the boy meant to roll his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll do that, I promise. Hey— did you get my present?”

 

“The dinosaur head? Yes, very impressive. The teeth were quite the size.”

 

His son looked genuinely proud. “That was the second biggest one on the planet, you know. Nasty creatures, too. Shot ki balls from their mouths, can you believe it? Not as dumb as they looked either...”

 

“ – Who took down the biggest one?”

 

“—What?” The boy blinked again, but this was hardly a strange question. A king needed to know who was competing against his son for first place, especially in such a Saiyan skill as hunting. Then understanding dawned on the prince’s face, quickly turning to an apology. “Ah, sorry Dad. That was me too. But I had to give that one to Lord Frieza. He  _ does _ love his presents.”

 

The king ground his teeth, silently.  _ So it’s  _ Lord  _ Frieza now? _ He shouldn't blame the boy, it had been nearly three years. Three years under the influence of that velvety lying lizard. Oh, Vegeta Sr. knew the creature could charm. He just hadn’t expected it to  _ charm his son,  _ and he certainly had not thought the boy would be susceptible. But the tyrant had daily access to his son, while conversations with the King such as these had been few and far between. Few and short…

 

“Speaking of the little monster, have you made any progress finding its weaknesses?”

 

“Aaah.” The boy pouted. “Ah, no. Sorry, Dad! Lord Frieza is  _ completely and utterly invincible _ . As far as I can tell. Impenetrable to cold. Unsusceptible to poison. And wow, I don't even know his power level— you know why?” 

 

The king groaned.  _ Because your scouter blew up when you tried to read him? _

 

“Because my scouter blew up when I tried to read him!”

 

“That is... unfortunate.” The king managed to bite back an accompanying sigh, but his annoyance was not missed. 

 

This curbed the boy’s enthusiasm, and he conceded to his senior with a downcast look. “Yeah. I guess.”

 

Which was as close to an apology as he could expect, the King realised. Patience was not a feature in the royal line, but the father tried again in a level tone.“So... any chance of getting that freak lizard out on a planet with a moon, or maybe away from his bodyguards or close enough to an airlock so he can be sucked into space?”

 

The boy shrugged, his eyebrows pulled down in concentration. Not for the first time, the king lamented his decision to appease the tyrant with his first true heir. True, in all thirty years of the PTO-Saiyan collaboration Frieza had always got what he wanted, and to deny him now would have been suicide. But surely he could have have thought up some ruse. Perhaps he could have used a doppelganger, or a stand-in of some kind. The boy was wasting away; perhaps getting stronger, but not becoming a ruler.

Yet, after a moment the prince’s face cleared. “Well, if you’re looking for weakness, Lord Frieza doesn't really train or exercise.”

 

Now this was just getting tiresome, and the king had trouble not pinching his nose. “That’s not helpful, that’s…”

 

“—No, but he doesn't really do any purging work either, so he’s not getting any stronger, so there’s that.”

 

The king really hoped this line of conversation had a point. He pushed with a warning in his tone: “So...?”

 

“Well, I’m getting lots stronger. Why, I’ve doubled my power in just over a year.”

 

The king would have cuffed his heir over the head five times by now, if he could have reached him. Breaking the monitor was the best he could do right now, and that was definitely beneath his standing. Maybe sarcasm would work on the child? “Great. You plan to keep doubling and then what? You’ll be at his level in twenty to thirty years, you think?”

 

At least now the young prince had an inkling of how stupid he sounded. But he seemed confused as to why the king was upset. Seriously, was the child getting dumber? It seemed the King would need to spell it out. “Son, you do realize that we don’t have this kind of time? Our numbers have been dwindling for decades.” 

 

Of course, the young prince could hardly be blamed for not knowing just how few Saiyans were left, especially considering how many warriors there had been when Senior had been a little boy.

Back then their world had been united under one ruler for the first time in history under Vegeta the Great, the current king’s father. He had reunited the warring factions on Vegeta-sei for the first time since they had set foot on that great red planet. The population of Saiyans had flourished in a short time of peace, before it became apparent that the barren wilds of their home were incapable of feeding all those hungry warriors for a longer period of time. Another war had been inevitable.

 

Frieza’s offer had saved the fledgling kingdom from destruction. Their agreement seemed to be one of mutual benefit, and what the old king had thought was a great deal. But Vegeta Sr had been the Prince back then, and he had spent too much time getting acquainted with Frieza and his idea of fun. Everything was always about power games with the lizard. And what was worse, the tyrant was undeniably good at them.  

Vegeta Sr. had realized pretty early on Frieza could not be trusted, and had implored his father -- Vegeta’s grandfather to sever the ties. 

 

His misgivings had been ignored, and in truth the young Saiyan kingdom had indeed needed that alliance. It was an equal, mutually beneficial relationship at first. Frieza did need the Saiyans for their strength, numbers and lust for battle. They quickly became the backbone of the young PTO. In return, Frieza offered battle and food in abundance; the two things Saiyans hungered for most. But By the time Vegeta Sr had taken the throne that equality was long gone, and he found himself working  _ under _ the lizard.

 

And now, to add insult to injury, his son thought to disregard his counsel as well. The boy had the audacity to second-guess him! “Father, I know it might mean a little longer to wait. But an honest challenge would be so much cleaner…”

 

“—NO! You listen to me, boy!” Damn, how he hated these power maniacs. Vegeta the Great had been the same, of course. Too strong, outstripping other warriors. It only led to hubris. Little wonder the grandson would take after that first king. Vegeta Jr. had a potential that might even one day overshadow his grandfather. There was one thing neither of them seemed to realise, though. “No matter how strong you are, there will always be an enemy you cannot defeat in an open fight.”

And now that the balance of power had shifted, time had become of the essence. King Vegeta fixed his son with a glare. “We have five years at the most to make our move.” Saiyans were becoming an endangered species, less relevant in the war machine the PTO had become every year. In another ten years, they’d be just a footnote in history. 

 

The King would like nothing better than to leave the alliance his father had forged. But the Saiyans had become so dependent on the PTO that it was impossible now. They relied on Frieza for both technology and food. As much as the king had been trying to encourage his people to take up farming, he had sadly had little success. Not with encouraging Saiyans to take up professions outside of fighting, nor with getting anything remotely tasty to grow out of Vegeta-sei soil.

 

As unhappy as his subjects had been with the king’s proposed changes, it was the tyrant that was most upset. Frieza had made it quite clear he was not pleased with the Saiyans’ dwindling numbers. He had offered more technology, of course, to bring their numbers back up. So far, however, this approach had yielded limited success.

 

No, Frieza would not let them go. And Saiyans would not manage without war and pillage. The only way open to them was clear, and the KIng spoke over any words his boy might have tried to utter. “We need to overthrow Frieza, and soon.”

 

Of course, dwindling numbers meant they had a lot less power to turn things their way, and there were no Saiyan warriors alive who came close to Frieza’s might. Frieza intended to play his chess game of death with the king until there was not one Saiyan left to play with, but King Vegeta refused to let that happen. 

 

The king didn’t bother to rein in his anger. “The Saiyans will rule the PTO.”

 

It would take subterfuge and trickery though. Those skills were more the domain of the lizard tyrant then a warrior like King Vegeta. Still, he had the perfect insurgent in his son. A perfect double-agent, right under the monster's nose.

 

But he was losing said pawn to the influence of that monster. A strangely personal anger accompanied this revelation: something needed to be done. And the king made the decision to act. “Go to your mission, and then prepare.”  

 

Noting that confused scowl, the King explained: “I’ll visit Frieza’s ship within two months.”

 

It over a year before they spoke again.

  
  



	9. sleep

 

I miss cryo-sleep. 

Sweet, dreamless, cryo-sleep. 

 

There are many, many things about the PTO I am glad to be rid of: the decontamination upon return to the main ship. The shortage of space while traveling. Tasteless rations. The constant bickering over scouter communication lines.

I can hardly even spare a pained thought for the regeneration tanks. Useful as they were, they were little more than giant test-tubes for the scientists to play around with us and fix what was broken.

 

Looking back, it seems Frieza had never been fond of living, breathing soldiers. I believe he would have preferred an army of machines or one of pristine, perfect untouchables beyond the dirty little details of life. Perhaps not gods— because Frieza did not really believe in such outside of himself— but something beyond mortal men. And the lizard spent all his resources on making us into these.

 

Let’s face the facts. Saiyans sweat and bleed and smell and even  _ shed _ . All Frieza’s alien soldiers suffered from ‘humanity’, as you would call it, to varying degrees. Yet Saiyans were always more attached to their primal nature than the others; more emotional, volatile, and untamable. We had all the needs and drives of normal mortals, or even animals. Yes, perhaps we were just animals to Frieza. 

 

But this was never something we were ashamed of. Pretending to be something more is not even a thing you humans would be silly enough to try. Our greatest power always came from the moon, from nature itself. Denying that we were mortal men was simple folly.

 

And yet, sleeping in the simple and natural way of mortals has proven... difficult. Cryo sleep, at least, was beyond any awareness. The only thing ever weighing it down was when it was programmed to commit some language or database to memory.  Beyond that there was nothing to remember of it. And there were certainly never any dreams.

 

No, I do not have trouble with my conscience. At least, not in a way you would understand. I have no hoards of dead visiting me in my dreams; no masses of unnamed people whom I never took the trouble to check if their screams actually contained any sort of intelligent language.

 

My father comes to me in my dream this night. This is a worrisome fact in and of itself, as I know it for the first sign of madness. Yet the dream… is infinitely worse. It starts out nearly normal. The king stares at me, serious and regal, and even bigger than I remembered. Then, he opens his mouth. 

 

It’s horrendous. I remember his voice as calm and dignified, but the sound that comes from him now is nothing of the sort. No, King Vegeta speaks to me in the jiggery nervous-happy shrill of that bald monk, Krillin. 

 

“Hey son! Congratulations on avenging our species,” he says, in that fast and breathless manner. 

 

I stare, unable to reply for fear that the bile rising up in my mouth would make it out with my words. It is just that wrong. The king scratches his head, unperturbed, a thoughtful expression crosses his face. “Well, I guess you didn't really avenge us. Goku did that. You just died horribly at Frieza’s hand.”

 

That's right; he uses Kakarot’s  _ human name _ . I feel sick, even in my dream, but again I miss my chance to reply.  “But you did that  _ so well! _ You didn't rush it like me. You waited for years, living at a monster’s bidding. Just to get yourself killed at  _ the exact right time _ .” 

 

The thing that wears my father’s face changes voices and now speaks to me in Kakarot’s voice. “That was really smart! To die horribly and make me so angry I would go Super Saiyan!” He pauses to rub his neck and look away. “Well, actually, I only got that angry when it killed Krillin. But still...”

I am so disgusted at this point, I do the only civilized thing I can; I grab my father by the lapels of his cloak, so I can punch him squarely in the jaw.

My hand passes through the apparition without even a hint of resistance, a fact that fails to register in my mind. I just stare at my hand, then try and grab him again. Surely, if my father has come to complain about my shortcomings in the form of a ghost, he would have the decency make some physical punishment possible. He was, if anything, always a physical man.

 

The voice changes again, this time to that of the scarred weakling that hangs around the woman. “No, wait! It doesn't even count as dying because you came right back!”

The creature offers me a glare. “Which sucks, because now you are here and in our way.”

 

I simply try to blast the apparition at that point. But the Father-thing just jumps to one side and then speaks in Krillin’s voice again. “No-no-no! That’s not how we do things around here! You’ll make Goku sad! You don't want to make  _ Goku _ sad, do you?”

 

It leaps aside again, as it reasons: “After all, if Frieza defeated your father and Goku killed Frieza, Goku is our new king!”

 

It starts to chant: “All hail king Goku! All hail king Goku!”

 

At this point I wake up covered in sweat. I am not sure I want to try normal sleep again. 

  
  



	10. Mores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> work.

Frieza-85 would be a nice planet when it was done, and they were nearly there. The bodies had been cleared by workers, the smells and stains nearly gone. The purging and decontaminating cycle was nearly complete. The air was clean, city rubble cleared, and the only signs that this planet had ever held life before were the lush forests the buyers had specifically required to be kept.

These forests did, awkwardly enough, provide cover for the last remaining original inhabitants of the planet. Removing said inhabitants was an easy enough job for the three young ones though: hunting through the treetops and searching for anyone unlucky enough to have survived this long.

Cui laughed madly as he shot his little ki-balls down, trying to flush out their quarry. The squid was nearly full grown, the extra tentacles flowing down from his neck and shoulders were the last vestiges of his adolescence. He looked like the monster he was, and Vegeta idly wondered if risking damage to these ever-important trees was actually necessary. Surely, just having that freak-face swoop down and yell ‘boo’ would scare any creature into fleeing. It was a passing thought, as he silently awaited for a target to be driven out of hiding.

Sadly, when the creature did flee, it darted the wrong way and was quickly overtaken and pounced upon by a big, black shape. Vegeta tisked in annoyance, slowly made his way down, and hailed the salivating giant. “You got lucky there, you bloody mutt.”

Midnight turned its heavy muzzle to face the young Saiyan, long fangs gleaming. It chuckled; a strange and eerie sound from such a creature. Not for the first time, Vegeta thought the white armor and gloves looked decidedly out of place on its thick, black fur. Midnight would be best likened to a werewolf in a suit-of-arms. “Not luck, little monkey. Skill.”

Vegeta just snorted, but secretly hoped there was no truth in Midnight’s words. When the cub first came aboard, Midnight was one of the few Vegeta easily outclassed in every way, and Vegeta had expected it to be dead by the end of the week. Yet the wolf-creature had not perished, but flourished; it had grown bigger and stronger than the prince had imagined possible. Vegeta could only hope to pass the creature’s height when his own adolescence finally hit. Midnight was already as big as the largest Saiyans he’d known.

Nearly forgotten, the creature under Midnight twitched. In answer the Wolf tightened its hold, bearing down and grinding its hips suggestively as it growled at her, “Whoa now, little thing. Don’t try and go off on your own. It’s not safe. Stay with me.”

Cui finally entered the clearing, and one look at Midnight sent the fishman into another bout of mad laughter. “By the ice, dog-breath, what are you planning on doing to that little thing? Please, nothing too carnal I hope. I am not sure my stomach can take it.”

Yes, the creature was female, Vegeta realized. She softly whimpered in high tones, and under her pelt he could see the swell of rows of teats. Yet it was something of a jump for the young prince to consider something so alien remotely attractive. Besides... wasn’t desecrating females a heinous crime to Midnight’s kind? Most of what the Wolf had told him aligned rather well with the old Saiyan ways. 

Whatever. It really wasn’t Vegeta’s problem. “You’re one to talk, squid-face,” Vegeta leveled, “what, doesn’t your kind get pregnant by shaking hands?”

As they both laughed at their purple squadmate, Cui turned a shade darker. “It’s a gland above the elbows.” But the fish knew the game, and quickly schooled its features. “Although, I do have a half-brother because my old man put on the wrong shirt one time and got pregnant.”

That got both Vegeta and Midnight’s attention. “Wait, what?” The dark creature straightened up and turned to face them, lifting its quarry up by the neck and tucking her in the crook of its elbow. “Your  _ dad _ got pregnant?”

“We’re androgynous. As in, we can do... you know what, forget it.” Cui gave up as its peers laughed at it, hard. The fish-man still managed not to lose his cool completely, countering: “Aren’t you and the monkey both supposed to do it under a full moon?”

 

Midnight snorted, then bent down a little to softly stroke the female’s head in his arms. Her four eyes were impossibly wide, her whiskers trilling. “We run out at the full moon to reproduce. But I can have fun any time I choose. I’m not like one of the apes that can’t get it up elsewhere.”

 

Vegeta fought back a scowl. “Now whatever you’ve heard is dead wrong, Midnight! Moons have nothing to do with our reproduction. We just turn Oozaru and stomp around killing things, fighting and destroying.”

 

Of course, then you waited to see which female had been impressed with your amazing skills in battle. And then maybe the girls duked it out too. But Vegeta had zoned out at this part of his sex education, so he didn't think it was worth mentioning. 

 

“Ice, you Saiyans are stupid. No wonder so few are left,” Cui offered.

 

“Careful, I’m special. I can understand what you say—even in Oozaru form!” Vegeta was on a roll; every insult rolled off him now, no barb able to stick. He had not punched either of his peers in over a month. That meant he was, for once, points ahead in their game. They could try, but this time he would not relinquish his lead. With this purge nearly complete, his prize was nearly within his grasp: he’d call dibs on whatever the three of them managed to drag off-world in their pods. 

 

Vegeta hoped for something tasty. 

 

“Can you read and write, too?” Midnight grinned, still trying.

 

“And count as well. I’m a real prodigy. Watch.” Vegeta pointed at the little female and announced: “One.”

 

“Oh, clever. _One_ , eh? Tell you what, as a special treat for being so clever, I’ll let you have _seconds_. If you’re _even old_ _enough_ for that type of thing.”

 

Vegeta took another look at her. Four wide black eyes, gray patched fur puffed up, and long whiskers. The smell of fear, so close. She...  _ It _ . No. Vegeta wasn't some  _ elder _ that thought it  _ dishonorable _ to touch an unwilling female. That was useless old-fashioned drabble. It was just... she was just really, really  _ ugly _ . Yes, that was why he felt sick to his stomach. Midnight really was just a beast. “No accounting for tastes I guess, mutt. But I don’t think I’ll ever reach the ripe old age where I’m ready to fuck a rat.”

 

Midnight sighed, then flexed his arm and broke her neck. “Frozen balls. Now you went and ruined it for me.”

 

They all had a good, hearty laugh. Relieved even, perhaps, until Vegeta’s scouter jumped to life.  _ Oh shit. _

 

“What in blazes are you up to, loser?!” That gruff low voice could only belong to Dodoria and he sounded angrier than usual.

 

A cold, familiar sweat started to gather at Vegeta’s back as he managed to stutter. “I— I’m on my mission. Sir. With my squad.” 

 

“Well, get fucking back here. You’ve got detention duty.”

 

Detention? “Why?”

 

“Because you're still alive, asswipe.”

 

Damn. Well, that really got to the heart of the problem, didn't it?

 

Vegeta dropped the ridiculously straight-backed pose of attention he had adopted, then tried to distract himself from his teammates by quickly locating Dodoria’s coordinates. 

 

It didn't work. They were still there, watching. Laughing. And this time, they had ammunition. “Wow, he’s really got you on a leash,” Midnight howled, adding a sad fake bark at the end. Vegeta held his temper. Just barely. 

It was Cui that finally got under his skin. Again. “Does your father know the pink blob is still picking on you?”

He must have done... something. Something to give himself away, although Vegeta had been sure not to twitch a muscle. Midnight moved in. “You should tell on him. It's unfair.”

Cui moved in for the kill: “Go on, run to daddy. Daddy will come for you. Right, Vegeta?”

He couldn't help himself. Everything turned red. When his vision returned, he straddled a bruised and bloodied Cui. One open eye stared up at him in shock as Midnight restrained him by the elbows from behind. 

“Easy now,” the black beast rumbled in his ear. “Any more and Cui will be dead, you in a cell and me? Poor little me, without a decent team.”

Only when the wolf was convinced no more blows would follow did he release Vegeta. He continued to laugh, however. “That was at least ten blows. Guess I win again.”

Vegeta snarled; he didn't really care for the stupid game anyway. And he cared even less for his father. Damn the king and his empty promises, leaving him hanging for months. Then finally calling to tell him he had a _baby brothe_ r. One that made it out of the nursery. And of course he was still coming. But, Frieza wouldn't this, and Frieza wouldn't that. And Frieza, Frieza, _Frieza!_ Like it was somehow the lizard‘s fault that the king couldn't be bothered to get off his _fat ass_ and visit his son.

Although...  two could play that game. Yes; if everything was the tyrant’s fault why not make it so? It was obvious by now that Frieza had a soft spot for the Saiyan Prince. 

Oh, Vegeta knew he could not be too obvious about it. But with just a pout here, and a sad look there, Frieza was bound to ask what was wrong. Then he could secure protection from Dodoria, and when that bit of info made it back to Father...

Heh. 

Well, it would serve him right, wouldn't it?

 


	11. Rhythm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta finds his feet.

* * *

It has become easy for me now to fall into a daily rhythm. One of getting up with the sun, eating, training, eating and then training some more before I drag myself away long after nightfall to eat and sleep for the last time. Reset and repeat the next morning, and the one after that. Again and again.

 

It is the gravity room that makes this possible; a piece of amazing technology located within the confines of a spaceship planted firmly on the grounds outside the back of Capsule Corp. It is a bigger, more well-equipped ship than I’ve spent most of my previous life on. And, as much as I used to hate my travel time, there is a pleasant familiarity to this place. More importantly however, is the room’s singular capability to challenge me, even beyond the pull my native planet had.

 

This is nothing like the long and unending cycle of pod-cryo-sleep, purge, pod-cryo-sleep, tank, report and start again, but it feels good. Familiar; in an old way. I lose myself in that rhythm of exhaustion thankfully, as it stops my brain from going in circles.

 

I tell myself that I will become better than Kakarot with this machine, and as soon as my mind thinks of a  _ why, _ or  _ when, _ or  _ what-ever for _ , I up the gravity and all conscious thought stops. At night I fall asleep completely spent in mind and body, too exhausted to even try to dream.

 

It is close to a  pleasant state of oblivion.

 

There are a few hurdles to overcome, of course. The first is a familiar nemesis: a fatigue that seems as much mental as physical. It is something I have conquered time and time again, and it cannot keep me down. Yet I find it harder to defeat in the stillness of the chamber, with neither foe nor competitor to measure myself against. Left to my own devices, exhaustion sets in earlier with every session and I have to resort to naked willpower to keep going.

 

I ran into the second hurdle into a few weeks after starting my training.  _ ‘Parameter Safety warning’, _ a voice had called out and suggests to ‘ _ please consult mechanic before continuing’ _ . This happens at just 50 g’s and will not let me progress past this number.I know Kakarot’s machine went up to one hundred. Needless to say, I am not amused.

 

Today I decide to do something about it. I turn the gravity simulator off and start to scroll through the computer’s settings. Nothing appears broken, but I cannot remove the lock. Probably because I am missing some of the finer details, such as the written language. Most of it is still too alien for me to do more than guess. 

 

After a few minutes, I decide to try another tactic. I have dealt with unresponsive spaceships before, and few things can't be fixed by crossing some wires. I sit down heavily, pull out a panel underneath the controls, and start to short out circuits, bringing threads together in hopes of finding the manual override.

 

I get burned for my trouble; a bright spark singes my fingers. A moment later ,the entire blasted room is thrown into darkness. I curse as I squint down at my work and try to reverse the damage. But the fading light that comes through the small window is hardly enough to work with, and my fingers are shaking. The machine is dead; a full power out. I won’t be getting anything more done today. 

 

When I straighten up, then shiver. The room is quickly cooling off, and the sweat I had worked up earlier has left me chilled after this break. I should have at least put on a shirt before I tried to fix the problem. Yet there seems to be little reason to coddle myself, especially as I appear to be too stupid to fix this dumb earth-contraption on my own. So I stomp outside, feeling heavier with every step. The air is chilly and damp and it is almost fully dark.

 

Seriously, what is the point of putting safeties on a machine for  _ me _ ? Does that woman not realise it is near-death that allows a Saiyan to become stronger? And here on Earth, I can finally take all of the risks I want. Because here there are senzu bean, and wishes upon a dragon, and magic of every kind.

I shake my head at the stupidity of it and trudge slowly towards the main building. Although, I suddenly realise, there just might be a problem with this plan of mine. If I did kill myself, then who, in their right minds, would waste a wish on me? 

Well,  _ me _ of course. The one person I can always count on. But, if I’m dead I can hardly wish myself back. Hell, would anyone even waste a  _ senzu _ on me if it’s not part of a ‘battle to the death’’ situation? I can think of only two people who would be stupid enough to do so, and one of them is drifting around in space somewhere, dead himself for a while to come.

Capsule Corp rises before me, and somewhere within are my rooms and my bed. Perhaps it is a good time to quit and get some sleep. Perhaps, for safety sake, I’ll steal a senzu bean from somewhere before I push myself further. Although I have no idea where they come from. Probably from a golden goose’s butt, or out of the rose garden of a talking cat.

 

I've managed to shuffle my way to the front door before it opens up to show a disheveled blue-haired mess standing in front of me in her nightgown.

 

“Kami, Vegeta!”

 

Enter hurdle number three. Ah, yes. The woman. She is the other person who might be crazy enough to wish me back in the unlikely event I do get myself killed training. She may have built me this machine, but ever since complains that I’m pushing myself too hard and too far every chance she gets. Enough for me to think that she might do it. Want to monitor what I do. Make schedules. Plans. Science stuff. No; beyond the usual interests  those of a scientific disposition have in this, she genuinely seems worries about me. But why she does worries  _ me _ . 

 

I scowl at her angrily and then accuse her without moving from the doorstep. “Are you  _ spying _ on me?”

 

Her reply sounds not even remotely guilty. Or scared. “I was sleeping, if you must know. Then all the safely alarms went off at once. I thought you’d keeled over and died.”

 

“Well, I didnt,” I deadpan, “as you can see I am _ fine. _ ”

 

“...fine?” She seems confused by the concept, but after a moment she sighs and steps aside, gesturing me to enter.

Damn. Suddenly I reconsider going inside at all. I can't tell why she does the things she does, and it makes me suspicious of her every suggestion. Then I try to figure out  whether or not to follow her suggestions on the probability that they might be an attempt on her part at reverse psychology. Or an attempt at reverse- _ reverse _ psychology. Yet, as I still have not figured out her motives, I am just guessing. It is aggravating beyond reason.   

 

The woman tuts and drags me inside, her long fingernails dig into my biceps. She takes me to the living room, her voice high and angry as she chastises me about doing what I do best. I should probably explain to her how ridiculous it is to measure me against any human scale, but I don’t because only one question keeps playing through my head.

 

_ What is her deal? _


	12. Leeway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta’s over8000 and meganechan720 srill rock.

It made sense that popularity brought its own trouble, or maybe Vegeta should have said that popularity got _ him into _ trouble. He wasn’t sure. Still, he grinned smugly at the wide-eyed alien boy that dared question him first. 

 

Regardless, the green boy stuck to his earlier statement. “I’ll bet you wont.” With a look around the table the boy found his opinion strengthened as others nodded their heads in agreement, then stole a glance at that imposing figure at the corner table. Dodoria was as fat and wide as ever. “I’ll bet my meat on it you’ll chicken out.”

 

Suppressing any further boasting, Vegeta turned a pensive finger to his face and opted to agree instead. “Well, we are talking about ‘ _ the wall _ ’ here. And nobody in their right mind would touch its’ food. Anyone else want to bet against me?”

 

It worked. Almost everyone at the table offered up a piece of their meal. Oh, this was  _ precious. _

 

Sadly, neither Cui nor Midnight joined in the bet, but maybe with a little prodding… “What, no incentives from my own teammates? I am disappointed.” Failing at any form of sincerity, the prince batted his eyelashes at his two closest peers. 

 

Cui snorted and crossed his arms as he leaned back. “I think these boys are underestimating that _ legendary Saiyan stupidity. _ ” With a slow blink, his purple face broke out in an ugly grin. “I say you do it, but then Dodoria kills you flat. I'll… I'll put my  _ entire meal _ on it.”

 

Palms up and shaking his head sadly, Vegeta accepted that bet too.

 

“Wow,” Midnight chuckled, voice barely contained. “Shots fired. Squid-face has little faith in you doesn't he?” 

 

With a shrug, Vegeta agreed. “That just means more food for me.” 

 

Midnight laughed out loud now; his low, raspy laugh. A mountain of fur that shook with gleeful mirth. No little girl would ever be foolish enough to mistake  _ this  _ wolf for a grandmother. “Yes, I think it does mean that. I’ll sit this one out, if you don't mind.”

 

The Prince tisked, then slid out between bench and table. “The wolf wants to eat tonight. No matter. Excuse me boys, I have to go talk to my _ friend _ Dodoria.”

 

With an easy step, Vegeta sauntered from his table and ignored the excited buzz behind him. He already had Dodoria’s disapproving frown directed at him, so he tried to look disarming and friendly. Of course, that only made the pink giant’s frown deepen. Vegeta pretended not to notice, and kept his voice light. “Hello there, sir. What are you having?”

 

The pink alien stared at him for another intense minute before it followed Vegeta’s gaze down to its plate. “What's it to you?” 

 

Distrust and disapproval warred on the monster’s face. The second emotion, no doubt, was urging it to say more while the first made it keep its cards close. Yet Vegeta already knew Frieza had warned Dodoria to keep away from his favourite Prince, so he was safe. So perfectly safe that it would be criminal  _ not _ to take advantage of the situation.

 

“Oh, it’s just that it looks different from the slop they are serving us, so perhaps some kind of officer meal?” Vegeta crossed his arms behind his back and cocked his head to the side, the picture of curious innocence. 

 

With a snort, the elite gave in and looked down at his meal with obvious annoyance. “It is. Only the best ingredients for us elites. But don't worry yourself. It still tastes awful. Cooks in this place ain't worth shit.” 

 

Vegeta tisked, then bent forward a little to study the failed rice curry and meat. It did look rather pathetic to his standards, but, “Seriously, they ruined it anyway? Smells alright, though.”

 

“You monkeys have no refinement. Trust me, it stinks. Maybe I should just go on a diet...” Dodoria trailed off and sighed, and Vegeta knew it was now or never.

 

“That bad huh?” With lighting speed, the young Saiyan swiped a finger across the plate, scooped up a wide spread of sauce before he latched onto a piece of beef, then popped it into his mouth in one fluid motion. “Hmmm... nah. It's not that bad... a little burnt I guess. But seriously better than mine.”

 

Dodoria’s impressive bulk had risen out of its bench and stared down at him, expression caught halfway between fury and astonishment. Vegeta swallowed and blinked up at the monstrosity that was probably seven times his size, and definitely more in weight. “But if you don't like it, can I have it?”

 

The monster shook and fumed, a trembling boulder, set to avalanche right over Vegeta. Then it breathed and became Dodoria again. It took another slow, long, measured breath. Then another. Unnervingly, the alien then started to laugh. “Well, fuck me! Such a  _ cocky _ little monkey. Keep flying higher, boy. I'll be watching when you fall.”

 

With a sigh, it pushed its plate towards Vegeta, offering, “enjoy your meal while it lasts, monkey.” Then Dodoria turned and left the mess hall.

 

The Saiyan Prince watched the empty doorway for another long pause, palms on the table, just to make sure. Then, he picked up the plate and raised it high to many approving cheers from his groupies-in-arms.

 

“I thought you were going to get blasted—  _ Lord Cold _ , I thought he was gonna do you in!” The green boy said, all wide eyes and gushing admiration. Others joined in, but Vegeta just dropped the plate on the table and shrugged his shoulders. “This shit is hardly worth the trouble, with what the cooks did to it. Burned meat and chunky sauce. What a waste of good food!” 

 

The commotion died down, though the excitement was still there. Of course the meal didn’t really matter to the young soldiers; he was a hero in their eyes. Some weird feeling pulled at the corner of his lip at the realisation; he fought it and held his cold, stoic frown. The lack of emotion only brought on more of those pleasant waves of adoration.

 

Midnight finally pulled the prize closer and had a taste. He whined in the back of his throat, agreeing. “It's just criminal what these people will do to perfectly good meat.”

 

That slightly dampened the group’s spirits. Vegeta wasn’t sure if it was because they had figured out further heroics just weren’t worth the effort and would probably not happen again, or if they worried about their future meals being as sad and tasteless as this forever... even if any of them ever made it to elite status. 

 

In the silence, one boy spoke up hopefully. “Does this mean we can have our dinner back?” 

 

Oh, right. The bets. 

 

“Nah,” Vegeta said. It was the principal of the thing. “I'm eating it all.”

 

The Saiyan started with Dodoria’s meal, then continued with the others’. But now the food tasted worse than before. Besides, he had all these hungry young soldiers staring at him. Vegeta needed some sort of distraction. “I’d just about give my right arm for  _ one cook _ that knows how to treat meat.”

 

The green boy coughed. “I'm a pretty good cook actually, with medium and rare meats ‘n’ shit.” He looked up at the approving hum at the table then cast his eyes back down in a hurry. “I'm not allowed in the kitchen though. I tried already.”

 

“Well, that’s stupid.” Vegeta sneered, and everyone agreed.

 

“Bet you could get him in though.” It was Cui, his eyes twinkling with rare excitement. “Bet you could ask Frieza…” 

 

Which was, Vegeta realized, very likely true. Frieza would probably grant him whatever he asked if he was careful, but the homefront had been adamant he stop currying favors. And it might be wise to listen to Father for now. King Vegeta had been acting… weird. Vegeta didn't really get it, but when he had bragged of his endeavours, his senior had become incited. Seriously, Vegeta had thought his father would be pleased he’d pulled one over on Frieza. The whole point of Vegeta being here in the first place was to trick the Ice-jin, right? 

 

Whatever. “Nah. Don't want to.”

 

A collective sigh from the boys meant they had accepted his excuse. All except, of course, for a certain difficult purple squid. 

 

“What, are you chicken? A _ chicken _ Saiyan?” Cui made a face as if that was both impossible and disturbingly likely. “Go on, call him. I dare ya.” 

 

Midnight growled and took Vegeta’s side with a predictable familiarity. “Hey, our monkey ain't no coward. But you gotta be careful asking Master Frieza for favors. Can’t run to his lordship for every little thing. Why, you want him angry or something?”

 

That was just f _ unny,  _ and Vegeta snickered, unable to hold his tongue. “Frieza angry with me? Oh, please.” 

 

“Then prove it. Call him.” Cui’s teeth showed as he grinned, pleased with his victory.

 

Vegeta snarled. “Fine,” and punched up the number on his scouter. Vegeta played Frieza’s responses out loud, but kept his speech on private. He didn't need Frieza to know there were twenty kids listening in on their conversation. It only rang twice before the tyrant emperor answered in a slick, happy voice. 

 

“Vegeta! So nice of you to call. You’re not bored and looking for a new mission already, are you?”

 

“Ah. No. I’m good.” Actually, he had been slacking a bit. He really should ask for a new mission. But then he’d be stuck in a pod for who-knew how long again, living off rations for months of forced hibernation just to spend days on some stinking planet. But here, life had become... easy. Besides, Frieza had said it was up to him for now, so why make life more difficult?

 

His answer appeared to please the lizard, for it’s voice went up another octave. “Well, that’s  _ good _ . Better than good. If this is a social call, I can always spare some time for my favorite boy, yes? How are you doing? Nobody giving you trouble? You kids have enough to play with in the mess hall?”

 

The young soldiers around him had drawn in close, hungry for Vegeta to get to the point, but he didn't want to be too obvious. It was important to be cautious. “I’m good. Better than good. Well, we’re out in the mess now, actually.“

 

“Oh, that’s so good to hear. And what a _ nice _ suggestion it was to give the young ones a place to unwind. Why, if it weren’t for you I’d never have realised you  _ sweet boys _ needed an outlet.”

 

“Yes. And it’s been great.” Though a lot of the elder officers still gave them angry stares. Vegeta was getting used to that though; none of them dared act on their anger, so who cared? “Anyway, we were having some grub. And, well, it’s not very good. The food, so…”

 

“How’s your father, by the way?” 

 

Vegeta blinked. “Uhh. Fine? I think?” Wait. Did that mean...? Something in his stomach twisted. “Why, is he coming?” 

 

Father had promised. He had... But that was a long time ago. Did the King even remember? It was hard to say. It was hard to talk to the man, and even harder to please him.  

 

“Oh, goodness no!” the high chuckle on the end of the line assured. Vegeta found he was equally disappointed and relieved, which was weird. Father was never coming. Not up here. That had to be obvious by now, right? 

 

The tyrant prattled on. “Why, I can hardly get a message through to him. Oh, it must be palace stuff and your baby brother keeping him this awfully busy!” 

 

“Of course,” Vegeta retorted evenly.  _ That, and thinking up stupid ways to kill you. _ Damn, but the old man frustrated Vegeta to no end. And a little brother… just thinking about it made his blood boil. Father had a lot of nerve. He was too busy for his firstborn, but he pushed his delusional plots on the Prince regardless. 

 

A thought struck Vegeta. “Maybe I should visit him? Help him out for a little while,” _ and maybe punch some sense into the old windbag. _ Vegeta was almost certain he could take on his old man now… He wouldn’t take the King’s throne yet, of course, just make sure that Vegeta would get proper respect. If Father would just listen to him, the tyrant would probably be dead within a year.

 

A tyrant that still babbled at him happily. Vegeta almost felt bad for it. “Oh, no! I’m probably being selfish, but I’d be too  _ sad _ without you here. Why, your father has a second son now too, doesn't he? He should be able to cope with one. But poor me, all without a family of my own. In fact, would you like to join me and Zarbon at dinner tomorrow?”

 

“Sorry?” As enticing as the offer was, it was also… weird? 

 

“Well, didn't you just complain about the food? Ah, I’ve enjoyed you being around more. Why, it’s almost like we’re a family now. And dinner is something families do. Right? Well, my father, my brother, and I used to have those. It’d be like good old times. Ah, but different. Better. Oh, there’d be some good meat! I'm sorry, was there something else you wanted?”

 

Heh. “Well, I was just going to ask for you to let one of the boys into the kitchen to cook for us. But I guess I’m covered.”

 

The voice at the far end was more than pleased. “Tell you what, try my personal chef tomorrow, then try yours the next day and tell me where you’d rather eat after.”

 

Yeah. Fuck Father. He’d worry about him some other time. 

 

“Sure, I'll be there.”


	13. friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is short. but I am really proud of it and like it this way. betas agree. so, please enjoy!
> 
> **

Fuck Kakarot.

 

No, seriously, fuck him. Pretentious third-class waste of space. Selfish, unworthy bastard. I can't believe I showed up to his ‘welcome back’ party. 

 

Of course when I say ‘showed’, I mean ‘lurked on a nearby rooftop’. And when I say ‘came to welcome him’ I mean ‘waiting for an opportune time to knock him in the face’.

 

Still, I thought it was  _ mighty nice of me _ .

 

Especially because Kakarot’s supposed welcome back party was also the Nameks’ goodbye party. Talk about a major annoyance. No, I understand that getting the green freaks off your planet is reason to celebrate. I’d seriously be willing to throw flowers at them and give away free food as well just to see the back of them. Though the tearful hugging-touching and snotty good-wishes are beyond my acting skills. Seriously, eeew.

 

But the woman and her rag-tag group of underling warriors went through all the trouble of finding those Dragon Balls, and then were willing to spend  _ two whole wishes _ on the fool. You’d think he’d at least accept. But nooo. Not Kakarot. Fucking idiot is just too good for that kind of thing. Says ‘I’m busy’. And says ‘can’t wish me back right now’. ‘Now is not a good time,’ and says ‘Oh by the way I’m not dead. Sorry if that was confusing.’

 

So fuck him sideways until his legs fall off. Seriously. 

 

I’m out of this dump. The woman’s gravity chamber is a spaceship too, so why stick around? So long and fuck you all.  _ Loseritis _ might be catching.

 

As a side-note, Vegeta’s empire might not be working out. It seems what’s left of the PTO— those willing to join my side with non-lethal coercion— fall into two categories: the kind that you cannot turn your back on without finding a knife stuck into it, and the kind of cowardly kiss up that I cannot stop myself from killing however hard I try.

 

And seriously, I  _ tried _ . Gave myself the whole pep-talk. ‘ _ Don't blast them, Vegeta’ _ , I told myself. ‘ _ You know they’re going to be revolting monsters, but they could be useful.’ _

Still, I come face to face with their icky alien mugs and my xenophobia kicks in full throttle. Then they start laying false praise down and I feel like they’re leaking goo on me. It’s like how some of you humans squish spiders, right? Natural reaction. 

 

Whatever. Who’d want to lead a bunch of losers like the PTO anyway? They always were just dead weight. Happy to take advantage of you while you lived in favour, but would any of them ever consider— I don’t know— helping you when you were down? Can you imagine any of them wishing Frieza back? No, they’re all too busy dancing from the ceiling rafters celebrating his demise. And let’s face it, in a popularity contest, I’m probably the only one that could lose to that degenerate tyrant. Everyone hates Saiyans. But even Saiyans hate me. Hated me. 

 

Now there’s only one other Saiyan left and he’s too stupid for even such a simple thing. Though I hate him back plenty.

 

Still, I’ve decided to look for Kakarot. Maybe I’ll kill him. Maybe I’ll clobber him hard enough, add some more brain damage and enlist him. That would be my one-man army right there. How would that be for irony? And he looks Saiyan enough that I don't feel sick when I need to speak to him. Though that would be ruined the moment he starts talking back. Maybe I should rip his tongue out for safety. Yeah. that would serve him right. Fucking simpleton. Don’t know what they see in that fool anyway.

 

I’m running out of gas. Maybe the best course is going back to Earth and waiting for him there. He’ll show up eventually, right? He is their hero. And what kind of hero just roams around in space? You never know when the next calamity hits Earth. Why, it might be me. Yes, might as well go back.

 

I never did enjoy space travel much anyway.


	14. surprise!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vegeta gets a nasty surprise.

“Did you know?!”

 

Vegeta stared up at the pink lizard, transfixed by that red-eyed, malevolent stare. His playing cards lay completely forgotten as he stared at that pulsing gaze that promised his demise. It was an expression he had never expected Frieza to direct at him. Amusement, yes. A bit of patronizing cruelty, perhaps. But mostly that interested, slightly affectionate look the tyrant emperor reserved only for him.

 

“ _You are like a son to me”,_ Frieza had confided only a few days back. But now, the lizard emperor was about to commit filicide.

 

His stunned silence did nothing to appease the tyrant. Frieza raised an open hand, long vicious fingernails already dyed red. A backhand slap, and Vegeta flew over the now emptied mess tables. It seemed that his comrades had mysteriously disappeared and left him to his fate, no small feat considering that two rows of tables had been full a moment ago.

 

Companions that had flocked to him these months; the younger ones in their early years of active service. Every moment they had away from work they made thankful use of the leisure space and time Vegeta had acquired for them, despite an incensed Dodoria and a fuming Zarbon. Acquired from Frieza, because he was _dear_ to the tyrant.

 

Apparently, such favor did not last.

Vegeta never collided with the far wall. The tyrant plucked him from the air by the rim of his armor. His neck and lower back screamed in protest as his limbs whipped around his suddenly inert chest.

 

“DID YOU KNOW!?!” Frieza repeated, its face so near that spittle hit him. To the side, Vegeta could see a fist close above him menacingly. The young Saiyan knew his life to be over; Frieza was going to strike him. It never hit _anyone_ himself, and for good reason. Except for when it had kicked Zarbon, when Frieza hit something, _that something died._

 

But When the prince focused on those bloodied knuckles, his breath caught for a different reason. _Red_ blood. Ice-jins _did not_ bleed red. Saiyans did. “Father…”

 

Frieza blinked and followed his line of vision, temporarily distracted. Then a musing, near-sad expression crossed its features. “Yes, well. He’s dead now, isn’t he? Useless monkey. Him and his royal guard too. Pathetic.”

 

_Oh no._ The fool had gone ahead and done it! He’d gone ahead, despite the prince’s advisement against doing so— and Vegeta had advised against it. The king had pushed on. Pushed on... Without him. _How could he?_

 

Or, perhaps, _how could Vegeta not have realised_ . It _should_ have been obvious to Vegeta, because that was how his father responded to such things. So yes... “ Of course _I knew,_ you dumb lizard. How stupid do you think I am anyway?” Vegeta had just not tried hard enough to stop it.

 

Frieza tisked and released him, a gentle play of its fingers enough to push Vegeta backward to the wall. “You played me well. I really believed you were in complete awe of me.”

 

The admonition had him stunned to silence, until an odd chuckle came from his mouth unbidden. It _was_ funny, but Vegeta guessed the giggles coming from him were due to mostly to nerves. Why else would it be hard to breathe? His face felt weird. One side was numb, but he managed to get the words out. “I still am, you idiot. So I knew it was a _stupid_ plan... Stupid, stupid, stupid. Father was an idiot. Trying to drown an Ice-jin in space. Trying to rush you with numbers. Stupid and weak tactics that were never going to work.”

 

Frieza looked down on him with an almost surprised expression. It was not the only one, for Vegeta had apparently lost control of himself. Once set free, Vegeta’s mouth seemed determined to dig his grave even deeper. “Why the fuck didn’t you just let me go? Why couldn't I have gone home, to him? What, do you have abandonment issues or something? If only you had let me, I could have — I _would_ have — stopped him.”  

 

He paused, feeling nearly asphyxiated, but he was fine. _Fine._ Although he should be hurt. Although he must be bleeding. Should be bleeding, his blood mingling with his father’s. Should have. He should have been on his father's side.

 

He was a fucking traitor.

 

“Get it over wif.” Something in his mouth had come loose with all that talking. But it didn't matter; Vegeta just hoped to be dead before he started to cry. His voice was all wrong and he couldn't move his jaw right. Didn't matter either. Didn't hurt enough. Just pulsed, cold and tingly.

 

The Ice-jin crossed its arms and used its tail to point at him, horns swinging dangerously as it cocked his head to the side. “You don't _really_ expect me to believe you tried to stop this silly little attempt to usurp my throne, do you?”

 

Vegeta wasn’t sure that he cared any more. No, actually, he was sure he didn't. Stuck without his usual eloquence, he opted for a shrug. The initial shock had worn off and it left him feeling empty, uncaring and just.. tired.

 

Frieza kept that pensive frown on his face, not moving an inch, except for a twitching purple-pointed tail. It was intrigued, but hardly convinced. Like a venomous snake with a full belly that considered whether the transgression of stepping too close warranted a quick death to the perpetrator. Vegeta returned the blank stare, but found himself sliding down to a sitting position, wondering at how little he could see. It was as if half his vision was gone. He had almost figured out why when the lizard emperor finally spoke. “You know, I actually kind of _liked_ your father. We go back such a long way.”

 

Vegeta didn’t care. Not one shit. Could the lizard maybe do away with him without reminiscing its entire life story? He wasn’t sure he could take another soliloquy. He pointed at himself and made another attempt to speak. “Kill fi-hst?”

 

_‘Talk later’,_ he would have liked to add, or _‘please, I think I suffered enough of your disgusting voice for one lifetime.’_ Or, _‘I really want to die a warrior’s death and boring me so badly that I stop breathing doesn’t count.’_

 

Frieza frowned down at him a minute longer, in silent contemplation as Vegeta fought to keep his eye from spilling over. Just the one, the other had overflown a while now, but he didn't think it was tears. Then the tyrant laughed, a truly merry sound, not mocking or angry. It chilled Vegeta through and through. “Funny. You’re funny. But I think I’ve killed enough monkeys for one day.”

 

It slithered up to him, closed in and whispered in his ear. “And seriously, would you want to die like this?” Frieza sadly shook its horned head. “Pointlessly, not even a footnote in history?”

 

_Pointlessly.._ Vegeta could hardly grasp the concept. He was the prophesied one, born to become something amazing. A legend. And now.. Now, he would die without ever coming near his destiny. Was that even possible? But it was; it was right there. Like an abyss he had not noticed before. A gaping chasm, about to swallow him. Not fear of death, but fear of a life cut short to something meaningless.

 

Something in his face must have betrayed Vegeta, and the despair bubbling up from below. Frieza nodded, continuing. “No grand schemes, no great fights. Just your peers asking in a few days, _‘Say, whatever happened to that Vegeta guy?’_ What a pathetic end to the royal lineage. But then again, in keeping with your species I suppose…”

 

The tyrant studied his face for a moment longer, obviously pleased with Vegeta’s reaction. Then it turned gracefully and flicked its purple tail behind it. “Do go by medical and get your face sorted out. It looks… displeasing.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh dear. such a sad chapter. still, not nearly done. hope you are all still enjoying this?  
> special thanks to my beta's of course maganchan720 en over8000  
> over8000 incidentally has a new fic!! yay. you should go read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16089797/chapters/37577063


	15. comrades in arms

I'm on an acid trip. It’s the only explanation, the only way... any of this is happening. Or, not happening. Ah, it doesn't matter. My heart is in my throat, and I don't know why because it’s late to the party. If it wanted to panic on me, half an hour ago would have been better.

 

I’ve fallen off the deep-end. I’m inside one of Raditz’s mad dreams. The ones he kept trying to tell me about but were so crazy I didn't want to know. Now look who’s followed him down into his rabbit-hole clusterfuck. No; this cannot be real. “Breathe,” I whisper to myself, sitting on my rock; off to the side. 

 

I’m here with the whole gang of pathetic Earth fighters. They followed me easy enough once it became apparent what was coming our way. And of course the crazy blue-haired vixen showed up, always looking for a fight it seems, with her power level of 2. I’d say she’s really,  _ really _ stupid. But what do I know? Nothing. Nope; this world doesn't make sense to me. She probably knows exactly what she's doing.

 

I’m just going to sit on my rock, try and will my body to stop panicking, and breathe. 

Oh hey, guess who’s back? Kakarot! Oh, and also Frieza and his father. 

 

Cool, right? Yeah, way cool. 

 

Okay, so when I felt their power levels close in on us with painful finality, I thought we were done for. Sure, I told these Z-fighters to follow me and fight, but I thought the bunch of them would be little more than lambs to the slaughter. 

 

I actually was tempted to make a run for it, but Kakarot was not on planet yet. Without him here to play red herring, Frieza would not have wasted time and would have just followed me. So, why make a fool of myself? I believed I was coming here to die, human. I thought Frieza came back for me, thought I’d put a brave face on and seek the lizard out. The first one there is the first one dead, right? If you’re gonna go, it’s best not to drag it out. Don’t give it time to play with you.

 

It all sort of made sense. Of course Frieza was alive. Like Kakarot would actually finish the monster. He made it quite clear the first time I came to Earth he doesn't believe in finishing anything. Makes sense, too, that it would come for me. No one ever got away from the tyrant emperor. Yes, it all still made sense. In a ‘fuck my life’ sort of way. 

 

But hah. Silly me, trying to make sense of the situation. Logic is overrated. Seriously. Got to stop trying that shit. Earth is more of a mad-hatter-tea-party place. A place for fairy tales and Super Saiyans and whatever crap I can dream up next. And me, I got some next-level shit. Don't know how I do it really.

 

So, of course, just when I think I’ve figured it out, shit happens: another Super Saiyan shows up. Some  _ boy _ who claims to be Saiyan. No tail. Purple hair… Doesn't look like a Saiyan at all. Oh, and says he’s from the future too. Yeah, right. Who’d believe that? It’s too crazy, yeah?

 

I’ve seen it. Felt it. He really is a Super Saiyan. And he’s what, seventeen? And a fucking Super Saiyan. At fucking seventeen...

 

Anyway this kid shows up, just when we’re ready to do our heroic but pointless death scene. This teenage boy beats us to Frieza and King Cold. He fucking turns Super Saiyan and slays the pair of them like he’s slicing bread, like it’s his morning warm-up. Doesn't even break a sweat, like they were nothing.

 

I checked, just now. They are both definitely dead: Frieza and his father. So much power; I thought at this point I’d be used to my inconsequential status. Yet it still chafes. Awesome, right? There are three Saiyans left in the universe, three! And I’m the only one that’s  _ not  _ a Super Saiyan. 

 

And, apparently, the only one that has not defeated Frieza. 

 

So I am pretty upset at this point. To make things worse, the boy from the future keeps staring at me. It’s annoying, and also degrading. He looks at me all doe-eyed, which is ridiculous. Damn brat has no business admiring me. Does he have some kind of Saiyan fetish? It would explain why he claims to be one, even though he can't be. Yet every chance he gets, he smiles his timid smile at me. 

 

“Feh,” I manage, before tearing my eyes away. Because inside, I’m screaming at him: ‘What? What? You want a piece of me?  _ I’m _ the promised one.  _ I’m _ of the blood. And you? I can take you! Come at me!’

 

Which is stupid. Stupid and suicidal. 

 

Yeah. It gets better. Kakarot arrives back on Earth, just like our new teenager Super Saiyan promised. But it seems Kakarot doesn't even have time for me, like I'm not worth the effort. Yet he has plenty of time to fight that boy, and they go head to head. 

 

And I know. I know... I can't defeat him. Can't defeat either of them. It feels like the training I’ve done so far meant nothing. I’m feeble now when compared to a Super Saiyan. Super Saiyans?

 

So when the boy talks of a threat coming from the future… Well, I guess I should doubt him, but fuck my life. Nothing makes sense anymore, so why the hell not?

 

Acid trip. I’m telling you.

 

No. Wait. I got it. I’m dead and in Hell. Yes. It all makes sense. It’s the only possible explanation! I was never resurrected, but went straight to Hell. I just missed the memo. An idiot third-class and a fake Saiyan can outdo me, and I’ve been slacking and thinking I was safe while Frieza and his whole family could show up any time. Show up and think of new fun games for us to play. What a failure I am.

 

No, no way. I refuse to accept it. I’d rather be delusional than submit to this reality. What? The monsters from the future scare even our teenage Super Saiyan? Kakarot wants to fight them? Well, two can play this game. I’ll kill them, those androids. No problem. Because -- duh. I’m amazing. I’ll just use my still-not-Super Saiyan powers on them. After that, you’re all going down. I’ll show you how to ignore a clear and present danger.

 

I make these crazy, empty promises. Just gibberish, really. But hey, the supposedly-brilliant woman and Kakarot think I’m making perfect sense. So I’m going with it. I’m nothing if not adaptable, right? Deranged; I guess. Not thinking straight. --Kami, I hope that’s it! At least I’m on top of this situation-hell-acid-trip-whatever thing.

 

Then, the  _ real _ crazy shit starts happening.

 

“This is so great! You really are going to help, Vegeta?” Kakarot is happy, and grins at me in that dopey manner of his. He looks completely unassuming in his silly alien clothes with his power suppressed. I'm not fooled, though. He has to be faking it. Has to be. Then he puts an arm around me in some inappropriate gesture of camaraderie. 

 

“Tch.” I’m so disgusted that I nearly self-combust. Then the woman gives me her seal of approval. And damn, now they are all acting like I'm one of them. And then... friends. The icky, scary, confusing friends… closing in on me. What the fuck. 

 

Group hug? Not today. No. “Back off!” 

 

Oh, apparently that’s fine too, or at least I’m excused. I even get some laughs, and a ‘same old Vegeta’ from Kakarot’s spawn. Whatever. I can safely find my rock and stick this one out as they all happily greet each other with entirely too much physical contact. They are all over each other, but at least at a distance from me. I get some more smiles cast my way though, as if they’re trying to pull me into their little eclectic ritual. 

 

Urgh. Did they miss the part where I’m going to  _ kill _ them all? Ok, now I am going to do it. I am going to become a Super Saiyan. I’m going to kill those androids. Then I’ll kill Kakarot and his friends. And this whole planet. You think I’m just boasting, human. Don't you?

 

Don’t you?

 

I think I’m having a panic attack. Breathe. Count to ten. Breathe again.

 

I nearly am back under control when the bald monk comes my way. “I look forward to working with you again, Vegeta.”

He sticks his hand out at me. Not in a threatening way, which just makes the knot in my stomach twist up further. My mind tells me this could be a trick and to relax. My gut disagrees. When did I start finding  _ comfort _ at the thought of a knife in my back? Deranged, I’m telling you. Maybe I need to explain to him more slowly: “I’m not going to work with you. I’m going to just kill these freaks. And after that, Kakarot is going down.”

 

The little thing’s face opens up in this alarmingly big, trusting smile. “That’s fine Vegeta. You were a great help on Namek, and I hope we can work together again just as well.”

 

Fucking little twerp. Didn't that freak  _ die _ on Namek? If so, he’s got his baseline pretty messed up. But hey, who am I to complain? The poor fuck spent his entire life on this messed up planet. Probably totally mental. 

 

Breathe. Just breathe. Tell my heart to slow the fuck back down. I’m not dreaming. I’m just on an acid trip. An acid trip in Hell.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yarr! im back.. or still here. anyway, had some trouble getting this chapter together but now it turned out kinda awesome. special thanks again to meganechan720 and over8000. the second of which has a new dbz fic out, so yay! oi, before you go check it out, say hi so I know you liked this k?


	16. grace

 

Everything had changed when Vegeta was released from the tank.. The physician gave him a new uniform without a word. No one came to pick him up, and his scouter had no messages for him. He walked the halls aimlessly, searching for his father’s body, for any sign of the massacre. He found nothing, except for several old scrubbed blotches of blood. But he had never taken notice of such things before, so they might have been old and from some other incident.

 

If someone died without anyone to witness, was that person really dead? If there was no body to show for it, had it even happened? Perhaps Frieza had lied to him. Perhaps he had imagined the whole thing… perhaps he was still asleep. This certainly felt like some strange dream-world.

 

How could the world just keep going, without even taking notice of such a horrific thing? How could it not be touched? How could they ignore this… no —worse still, how could they ignore _ him? _ Not just his father’s death, but a prince’s existence. It was like he had been just an extension of his father; without the King to ground him on this ship, Vegeta was only a ghost, something that could not be touched or acknowledged. 

 

Soldiers and ranking staff went about their business completely ignoring him and his increasingly heated words. When he got in their way, or in their faces, they simply sidestepped him like a piece of furniture. Technicians and servants steered clear of him, hurriedly leaving the area if they spotted him. Dodoria, who he had expected to gloat, strangely was absent. As were the boys he had hung out with in days prior. Vegeta had cornered a few low ranks to ask them questions, but that only resulted in blubbering tears of panic. At least that gave proof that Vegeta had died or turned invisible. Everyone just pretended he was not there. Still, the silent treatment was getting to him in ways he had not anticipated.

 

Vegeta wandered the ship aimlessly, looking for a friendly face. All Saiyans had mysteriously vanished just like his peers. Once, he found himself at the recruit’s barracks where he used to be stationed, but he only found new faces there. Those children were less equipped to deal with him though, for their eyes locked on to him in a moment of panic, before sliding off. So Vegeta pushed them mercelicelly for information, kicking in teeth and spilling more than a little blood. Yet something scared them far worse than an excommunicated Saiyan prince, and they stayed silent despite him stopping little short of murder.

 

Time was hard to measure, but at least a day had passed when Vegeta sat in an empied mess hall. The occupants and cooks alike had fled the area discreetly when he’d entered, as if they were simply all on their way out. Vegeta had grown accustomed to their strange behavior, and had helped himself to a large serving of unnamable grub. Then he spied a familiar face from the corner of an eye. Midnight had been standing at the entrance of the empty mess hall and fled on spotting his Saiyan peer. With a curse, Vegeta gave chase and managed to corner the wolf in the adjacent corridor.

 

“Don't talk to me,” the black creature finally ground out when it realised Vegeta would not be ignored. Those large black eyes wide in fear fear as he scanned the empty halls, his large snout turning left, then right. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

 

Vegeta didn't care. He grabbed the hulking wolf by his chestpiece and launched forward till they hit the wall. “What happened? Where is everybody?”

 

Midnight looked down on him, his face softening only a moment. “You think  _ I _ would know?” he shook his head, then pushed himself free. “We’re not supposed to talk to you.”

 

And that was all the interaction he got. When soldiers came and went on their daily activities, to and from their pods, Vegeta was left behind, oddly standing on the sidelines. At least another day passed in this manner, Vegeta taking his meals and making himself at home wherever he found someplace warm or comfortable. The idleness coupled with this disappropriate amount of time spent without creo-sleep made him tired, and Vegeta was looking for someplace to rest when he ran into Zarbon. 

 

The blue alien was the first and only one to address him without prompting. “What an anomaly you are,” it mused over the young Saiyan’s head, “out of our master’s graces, but not dead.”

 

Asking this one questions was stupid, Vegeta knew, but he had nowhere else to turn. “Where do I go? What do I do?”

 

The elite stared at him pensively before giving him an unusually honest answer, the one Vegeta had dreaded to hear: “It’s all up to Master Frieza of course.” That malicious smile returned slowly on his feminine features. “Why don't you ask him?”

 

That would probably amount to suicide. Still, Vegeta could not bear to stay like this any longer, ignored and forgotten; a ship’s spectre. He’d just have to be careful when he approached the tyrant, and hope to get lucky once more. 

 

First, the prince visited the decontamination rooms to get cleaned up. There was no need to give Frieza any reason to disinfect him into oblivion. The monster was, if anything, a mysophobiac. When Vegeta felt satisfied that his appearance would not cause a knee-jerk reaction, he placed himself in a strategic position outside Frieza’s throne room and waited. It didn’t take long. 

 

Frieza poured out of the room with his entourage and spotted the young prince immediately. Apparently Vegeta had found the creature at the right time, because it glided over to him and latched onto his arm without missing a beat. “Vegeta, dear. I’m so glad to see you’re alright!”

 

Which was... unnerving. The tyrant usually kept everyone at arm's length, especially Saiyans. Something about the hair. Well, Frieza had said Vegeta was ‘clean for a monkey’. Still, the contact was odd. And in light of their prior interaction  —not to mention what must have become of his father— Vegeta would rather not. 

 

Still, he didn't dare fight the gesture of good will. So, after a minute of walking, the young Prince pushed his luck further. “F- Lord Frieza. I need to…” Vegeta knew where he should be now: down on Vegeta-sei. Because his father… the king... was dead. So he had to be crowned king. Right? “My planet,” he finally managed. 

 

When had he become so tongue-tied? This was not right. But every time he saw the creature on his arm, his jaw locked up and he was hard pressed just to breathe. Why was he doing this at all? Surely, the lizard would remember its previous mistake and finish what it had started. Why was he inviting his own death? Inconsequential, honorless death?   _ It killed Father. It killed  _ my _ father.  _ But what could he do, really? How could he fight this... monster? This monster that had nearly killed him with one little slap?

 

“Oh no, my little boy. You are far too young for that.” Frieza patted his arm happily, apparently unfazed by the prince’s lack of eloquence. “Far, far too young. At what age are Saiyans allowed to rule?”

 

_ When they kill their fathers _ , which of course was something usually held off until the king went senile, now that they were a civilized species. But the practice was still kept. Vegeta had never considered at what age he would have been ready for that.

 

“In about ten years you should be old enough, I imagine.” The tyrant smiled at him coily. “If I think you’re ready of course. In the meantime, why don't I start you off, nice and slow?” They entered a briefing room, where half a dozen Saiyans waited. Saiyans! Vegeta was close to his own kind for the first time since he had arrived on Frieza’s ship. Three sat at a table, two slouched against the wall, and one sat on the floor with his hands on his knees, leaning back dejectedly. No one seemed seemed to notice them at first. Then, their eyes slowly turned to Frieza and slid to him. 

 

When the first started moving they all went; standing to line up, and then they slowly sank to a knee. Every one of the Saiyans managed to glance in their prince’s direction at least once. Some threw desperate looks, some hopeful stares. The last was a reproachful scowl from an elder warrior. 

At that moment, Vegeta realized he had not missed this kind of company. Saiyans, by and large, had always expected much of the prince. Heralded him as the next Super Saiyan. Mostly, basking in their admiration had been pleasant. Until, of course, they had started demanding things of him. There had been an unnervingly grand list of things Vegeta was supposed to be able to do, just because of who he was.  Not just in fighting, to which challenge he rose gladly, but also in politics, knowledge. And yes, lately in subterfuge: to fit in with Frieza’s force and find a way to depose him. Well, Vegeta had failed on that rather superbly hadn’t he? 

 

Elders were always the worst; secure in their cemented positions as proven fighters, they felt they deserved respect from anyone younger, even a prince as powerful as Vegeta. They always had an opinion on everything that they felt they needed to share. Steering the prince, making him do what they wanted, rubbing it in whenever anything turned out badly, and always — _ always _ judging.

 

Of course they’d judge. And, if anything, the image the Prince was showing these men was not a good one. Vegeta tried to discreetly disengage from the tyrant’s hold, but Frieza was having none of it. The young Saiyan felt his face redden as he was held firm by the apparently oblivious murdering tyrant.

 

“Now, I shall appoint a regent on Vegeta-sei for the time being. Nothing for you to worry about, my dear. I shall keep all in order until you are ready.” Frieza smiled benevolently, managing to include the entire group. “Meanwhile, we’ll get you accustomed to command, shall we? These are the Saiyans I have been able to gather up at such short notice. I’ll look into getting you a few more later perhaps.”

 

Vegeta could feel their stares focusing on him as the Saiyans’ previous nervousness lessened. The group only now realised they were not going to be executed. Of course, that just freed their thinking up for how and why Vegeta was there. The prince had few delusions on how favourable their conclusions would be.

 

With a desperate jerk, he managed to free himself of Frieza’s arm. Yet the lizard just sidled closer and steered Vegeta back with an arm around the shoulder. “I am afraid most of mine are out on far-away missions. But I got you some from nearby stations too. Look, this one is nearly of an age with you. Won’t it be  _ fun _ having some new friends?”

 

Vegeta idly wondered what friends the Lizard revered to as he stared mutely at the hairiest Saiyan he had ever seen. And damn, if they were the same age then why was the other Saiyan at eyeheight when kneeling? Well, it didn’t matter much. The look he gave Vegeta through guarded eyelashes held no hostility, which was the best he could hope for right now.  

 

With a pat on the shoulder, Frieza finally released him. “Well, I think I should leave you to get all this sorted; get acquainted and all. Please take all the time you need before going on your next mission. And if there’s anything you need—anything at all, don’t hesitate to let me know, dear. You are, after all, like a son to me.”

 

With that, Frieza was out the door. Vegeta could not help stare after the tyrant and wish, in a moment of insanity, that he could latch back onto the monster’s arm and hide from his own kind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to over8000 and maganchan720.  
> this chapter is late on account of stuff.


	17. trust

Swallow.

 

I Swallow. Dry. So dry. Tastes wrong. I’m not sure why I stay on that thought so long. Not sure how long. Things are not working. My mind is one of those. Things. I think.

 

There are beeps and crunching noises and the mechanical breath of pistons. At some point I discern them from the background of my own blood thrumming in my ears and distinguish them as alien. Different, and out of the ordinary. I should probably do something. Something. Find out. What? Where am I? What are those sounds? How do I find out? 

 

Right. I open my eyes. 

 

Disappointment. It’s just blotchy spots. No help. Wait. I blink. Heavy, my eyelids stick together. Still blotchy, but I think it got better.

 

I think. I try again.

 

Yes, better. But something is in the way. Something on my face. I bring up an arm to investigate by touch, but the action tears at the skin of my forearm at odd angles.

 

What? It pulls. Like glue. No, like teeth. With some difficulty, I bring my arm close to my face. When I finally manage to focus, bile rises in my throat. There’s thread  _ in my skin _ . Jagging up from the sides of a long cut mended together like a patchwork blanket. Like I’m one of those cloth dolls refugee children would clutch to. Disgust finally raises me from my stupor.

_ ‘What did you do to my arm!’  _ I scream. Or, I try. It sounds more like a soft “Whuu?”

Still, it has more effect then I could have hoped for. Wood floorboards screech at my side, and a sea of blue curls comes into my view. “Kami, you’re awake!” 

 

It’s her. The woman. What is she doing here? She pulls a mask off my face, and it clears my vision. Fresh air on my face, freed from suffocation. Yet all remains disconcertingly wrong, fuzzy.

 

What did she do? And why the hell am I being manhandled this way? What kind of _ archaic form of medicine _ sews people back together like old-fashioned garb instead of putting them into a decent med-tank? Don’t these troglodytes at least have medical glue?

 

And who the hell cut me up? Assassins? A beam shot from outer space when I was sleeping? No. Wait. I remember. Something happened. Yes. An explosion. Right? Why is it so hard to think? Like pushing through cotton. Like I’m waking up from cryo-sleep, but it’s not clearing. The fuzz is blanketing my initial shock again, and I can’t even form decent thought.

 

“Vegeta, you were in an accident in the Gravity Room. I don't know how it happened...”

 

Right. The GR… no, back that up. Death. Live. Earth. Kakarot. A second, purple-haired Super Saiyan. My resolve to ascend. And the obstacles: the woman, and her GR’s computer, thwarting my chance of reaching my destiny. With their stupid safety warnings. Not able to push hard enough, fast enough. Taking too long. How I  _ hate _ those bloody safety warnings. 

 

But I got around those, didn't I? Finally learned enough of earth’s written language to hack the system. Just needed a password. Got that on my third try: ‘Dragonball’. Easy, right? Thought I was pretty smart figuring out the woman for once. Disabled the failsafes. The thing that had been holding me back. Thought I won that round.

 

Then the explosion.

 

This... This is dangerous. Not good. I’m weak. So weak. What is wrong? Wait. Maybe she meant for this to happen. Maybe this was her plan all along, to lull me into a false sense of security. Build a trap for me, one that I set off myself. I’m such an idiot!

 

And now she’s got me. Why else would she be here? What is she planning? What will she do? I’m not tied up, am I? No... one arm seems somewhat restricted but I can wiggle my feet free of the blanket. I can turn my torso, though after feeling nothing holding me down I decide against anything more. Instead I squint up at the woman still at my side. Her expression worries me. It’s not exactly malicious, but she does not seem ready to divulge her master plot. Which is especially aggravating with my brain not up to speed to even speculate as to her intent.

 

Wait. How long have I been here? What has happened in the space between? After the explosion, all I remember is trying to climb from the rubble. Then a complete blank. I may have been out for days. May have been longer. Perhaps she has done whatever she planned already. Perhaps she is here to admire her handywork. Checking on how well it has turned out.

 

Panic fights its way through the fog. What did she do? Did she mess with my body? My ki? Did she mess with  _ my brain? _ I try to sit up, but my abdominal muscles fail me. There’s stitches there too. I run my hand through my hair. There’s more stitches. In my head. Stitches. Stitches. Stitches. What did she do? Did she...? 

 

“Do w’ head?” I manage weakly.

 

Did Kakarot even actually suffer brain damage or was he caught and wheeled into an operating theatre to make his mind more agreeable? Did she turn me into what he is? A friendly degenerate doberman for her to sick on whatever threatens her? I push through the cotton in my mouth. “Wha’ you do?”

 

She blinks, her confused expression playing at innocence. “I sewed you back together again.” 

 

“No.” No.  _ nononono. _ “You mess with me.” 

 

The woman pauses, straightes slowly; processing my reactions. Her eyes slide from my face and down as she pieces the puzzle together. I curse, halfway aware that if it is my brain she intended to ‘fix’, I have just demonstrated that she has failed to complete the job. The accusation she throws back at me is not what I had expected.

 

“I  _ see _ . Your people let your babies get brainwashed at birth, send them off to alien worlds in what is basically an imprinting crib that teaches them genocide.” Her voice grows hard, raises an octave as she crosses her arms menacingly. “You entered those things freely for years, let yourself be sedated and put in a tank for healing by scientists working under an evil tyrant, but you’re worried  _ I messed with your mind? _ ”

 

She’s screeching at the end. And launches right into a tirade of long sentences, explanations about my injuries... more... logic.  I don't believe her lies. I lost her at ‘brain-something’. Makes sense? Can’t tell. Logic hard. Voice sounds nice though. Angry and indignant. Feels safe. Someone that angry is only going to try hit you, right? Kami I’m fucked up.

 

Just wish I could understand what she’s saying. So many hard words. I know hard words. Did. Am I even myself now? Have I gone stupid? I feel weird. Like, happy. But also sad. Especially as I should kill her. Whatever she did, I need to kill her. Maybe, if she didn't do anything... Kill her anyway? Safer.

 

Fuck, now I’m crying.

 

She stops half-sentence, her eyes glazing over with worry. That‘s just making it worse somehow, and my breathing hitches. For the first time since Namek I seem to have scared her, but instead of backing up, she takes a step closer and raises an open hand towards me. “Ok, easy now. That’s just the sedatives. They can get you over emotional. Don't worry.”

 

Sedatives? I latch on to the word. Is that all she did? But what kind of sedatives leave you feeling this weird and don't even knock you out? Doesn't matter. I hone in on the thing in my arm after a few slow attempts at a trail of thought. Sure enough, there’s a needle there. A clumsy contraption affixed to it is what I first perceived as constriction when I woke. It leads up to a bag of fluids hanging at my side.

 

It has to go. I take a few clumsy swing at the wirey tubes and get them on my third try. The woman is screaming again now. I feel I should explain my actions. “Doesn't even work.”

 

“Yes it was. Do you know how much pain you’ll be in when the meds wear off? It’s morphine, you dolt.” She continues, a new tirade, and actually latches onto my arm. Touching. It’s bleeding; needle pulled out half-way. Wires torn. The audacity makes me try to sit up. Again, nothing happens. Damn woman. 

 

“Nothing you make works,” I slur at her. Finally, amazingly, it shuts her up. Wow. I didn't think it was possible. I’m happy that I finally managed. One life-goal down. Next up, ascension. I feel so weird. Hope this stuff gets out of my system soon. Hope my brain will go back to normal. Hope my body will be my own to move again. Hope, hope, hope. 

 

Also, her hand is cold, fresh on my skin. Not bad cold. Not bad. She’s leaving it there an awful long time. Not doing anything. 

Oh. Oh  _ shit. _

 

She’s doing that sniffing sound. 

 

Aw, fuck.

 

Now she’s full-on crying. Tears flow and she releases my arm to hold her face. It’s scaring me. And really, it shouldn't. I'm used to bawling women. Nothing scary about bawling women. Bawling is what women are  _ supposed  _ to do when they see me. 

 

I am so high. 

 

She starts talking again, and I struggle to make sense of it. It’s even harder now, her voice thick and babbling fast. “Hurt you,” she’s so loud. Hurting is what my ears should do, “the GR.” I stare at her hidden face, trying to catch enough words to make meaning. “My fault.”

 

Oh. Oh right. I should probably tell her I messed with the safeties, broke into her system and fixed it up to my liking. Doesn’t she know? How does she not know? “Did you know blue is the color of freedom?”

 

She blinks. “What?”

 

Like her hair, and the sky on this planet. Used to be my favourite color. Now, I’m not so sure any more. “I dislike oranges too.”

 

She’s looking at me like I presented her with a complicated math problem. It doesn’t matter, she has stopped crying and a second later I am out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> speicial thanks to my beta, over8000 and maganechan720.  
> high Vegeta was brought to you by bad life choices. good luck with yours.


	18. kind

Frieza had dumped him into a meeting room with his own kind. He felt decidedly out of place, and completely blindsided. Like he had died and moved onto the next life, but missed the childhood briefing. It reminded him of that first day coming to Frieza’s ship. Only now, he was not greeted by a pair of hulking aliens, but six Saiyans. Six, ordered in a neat little line and still kneeling before him. Six of his own kind. 

 

That in itself had alarm bells ringing in Vegeta’s head. For, as much as Frieza had granted Vegeta most everything he’d asked for, getting into contact with his own kind had been off limits. And now there were six of them. Why had Frieza changed its ways? It still acted the same. Except for nearly killing him before. But that was an accident. Right?

 

What was the tyrant up to? Perhaps Frieza thought this was what he wanted? Perhaps it was just looking to please the Prince? Make up for that little slip of the hand? Or even for killing Father? But somehow that didn't feel right. No, this did not feel like a gift. It felt like a test.

 

And Vegeta was nearly sure he was failing. The King, his father was dead. And he had done nothing to prevent it. Nothing, though everyone had always said Vegeta would be the one to save the Saiyans. Everyone always said he was the best… was the perfect Saiyan and would never fail them. But perhaps he had failed already, and these six would judge him for it? Would they  _ dare _ ?

 

“What?” It was all Vegeta could do not to scream at them. They had _no right_. But at least his anger served to chastise them. After a collective inhale at his outburst, an older man got to his feet and stepped forward. He was not tall for a Saiyan, and his thinning wisps of hair framed a nearly kind face.

 

“Greetings, I am called Nion,” he said in formal Saiyago. “I regret to inform you, your father the king is dead.”

 

Vegeta bit his tongue. Fighting back sarcastic replies like, ‘wow, really?’ and a panicky ‘not my fault’ on the side.

But the formal answer would not have been fitting either, for the king was not dead by Vegeta‘s hand. So, after a moment, he answered, in his own rusty Saiyago: “I know.”

 

Nion smiled down at him in a fatherly manner, and reached out a hand to his shoulder, talking slowly and quietly. “I understand this must be a shock. Trying times these must be, but rest assured if there is anything I can do, please do not hesitate to ask.  _ I can help _ .”  

 

Vegeta snarled at the man in warning, swiping his hand away. Oh, he knew this type. An elder, of course. Saiyan Elders were always trouble. Somehow convinced they warranted respect by the simple merit of having survived past their prime. Always felt entitled to comment, to suggest, and to  _ patronize _ … “I am not shocked at my father’s sad attempts at subterfuge failing, because I already predicted they would…”

As if to set him off further, one of the other Saiyans barked a slow, sarcastic laugh. The eldest of the pack- older still than Nion, had flopped down on the floor, crossing both his legs and arms. A dwarf of a man, as short as he was wide, what little hair left to him stark white, challenged his Prince in a coarse accent, “Well, that’s good. At least  _ our prince _ is not completely  _ ignorant _ . But we are still stuck with a dead king.”

 

“Have a care, elder Lekus!” Nion intoned with a placating gesture at the other. “We do not know the circumstances, but this poor  _ child _ has just lost his father.”

 

Oh, these two were just too much! Vegeta balled his fists, turning one threatening step back in Nion’s direction, to set these two misguided coots in their place. “I’m  _ twelve _ .” 

 

The Saiyan in front of him had the decency to at least look surprised, but this Lekus character on the floor just threw his head back to laugh even harder. “Oh, he’s  _ twelve _ , Nion! Let’s just crown him king right here then, I say he’s ready.” 

 

Vegeta was just about to pounce, but was distracted when the great hulking brute at the far end clapped with glee. “Can we do that?  _ Can _ we make him King? I think that’s a great idea.” Bald except for a great mohawk atop his head, the expression on his face could hardly be faked, and Vegeta realised the man simply missed the obvious sarcasm in Lekus’s voice. On the heels of this realisation came the fact that Vegeta knew this man.  _ Nappa.  _ He had been at the palace on different occasions. They had been introduced… but the giant had failed to leave much of an impression, for he was as dim as a wet candlestick. 

 

He was glad to see Nappa here now though; the man was strong, and loyal to the crown. And, judging by the two identical nods from the twins next to him, he was not alone in this sentiment. 

 

Vegeta judged all three of these as the simple yet useful kind. Those that would look to him for every little thing, but would at least do as told. Now this was the kind of reaction Vegeta had been used to on planet Vegeta: silent reverence. It put his mind back to quieter times, when he was always put on a pedestal, and no one dared question him. 

 

Vegeta cast his eyes to the last remaining member of the party; the hairy one that was near-equal to Vegeta in age. That one didn't even dare meet his eyes and had yet to move an inch. That was fine. Good. So there were only two members here who would play dissonant.  

 

Vegeta drew himself up further and crossed his arms, basking in their silent praise. Drinking it up and projecting it. He addressed Nion, trying well to stare down at him though the old man was well over a foot taller. “I know we can’t till we’re back on Vegeta-sei, and I know we cannot go back right now. But..”

 

Vegeta reminded himself respect came not from size but from power, and that he had in spades. So he let his ki bleed out as he turned to the insolent creature still on the floor. “I will be King, as soon as we get home. And I am also the one in charge here  _ now _ .”

 

“Tsk,” the old thing on the floor cut in, “inexperienced brat thinks he can fix everything with power.”

 

That was enough. Vegeta would not be disrespected; he buried his fist in the old sod’s face, and the blow skidded the man backwards fifteen feet before he fell flat on his back. 

 

Vegeta rounded on the others, but found none had made a move. Nion was shocked. Nappa chuckled lightly. As for the twins, after a frozen silence they were on their feet whooping. 

“Hey, I did hear our prince was strong, Kura.”

“I think you heard right, bro!”

“I think he’s downright  _ dangerous, _ sis!”

 

Vegeta blinked slowly, too surprised to move right away when they came to stand at his side. They had the decency not to touch him, but Vegeta preferred a safe distance, so he took a cautious step back. Sis? Sister? That didn't really make sense. 

 

“Nicely done, son!” It was Nion again, and Vegeta bared his teeth at him warning. The man was still trying to weed his way in, to have some form of a counseling role. Vegeta would not fall for that. He knew the type; give them an inch and they’d take your whole tail. “I’m not your son!”

 

Nion sucked in a breath. “Of course not… my prince.”

 

Finally. Respect.

 

Vegeta turned back to Lekus, who had gotten to his feet. The old Saiyan had an angry gleam in his eye as he wiped at his bleeding mouth, but did not seem stupid enough to fight back. Good. 

 

Vegeta stamped his foot- he was almost sorry, because it was a disgustingly childish gesture, but still. He was their best, the strongest. The smartest. Not some ignorant child. “I am your prince, and as of now your commanding officer. You will obey me and not question me again.”

 

Nappa agreed, nodding to himself. “Of course. We are Saiyan. Saiyans are loyal, we serve the Prince.”

 

The twins whooped again, obviously pleased.

“I say he's our Prince, if not our King. What say you Kura?” “I say we'd be happy to have him Coli, what say you Raditz?” The identical pair turned to the only Saiyan that had not participated in the discussion yet. 

 

Lekus sneered. “Boys should not have a say, but third class boys should just keep their mouths shut.” But he turned to look at the boy anyway. 

 

Even Nion seemed interested in this one's opinion.The hairy teen finally looked up slowly, but spoke so softly he hardly seemed to care if he’d be heard. “Well, you are right there, elder Lekus. My opinion hardly matters. But neither does yours. For, the choice we have is a simple one: obey, or die.”

 

Somehow Vegeta realised it was not his Prince Raditz feared being killed by.

\--  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my betas over8000 and meganechan720. oi, got a tumbr at theash0.tumbrl.com looking 4 friends. or, community gathering. do you guys do that here?


	19. partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> something's gotto give, and Vegeta does not want to be it.

Chapter 19:

 

I am a fool. When did I get so caught up, so confused that I lost track of what is important? I know I have a tendency to focus, to obsess and lose my overview of the situation. But this... this was beyond stupid. This is my first conscious thought on waking, and it pushes me to my feet. Arduously. Painfully. Yes, and maybe that last bit of strength needed to do so rises up from panic.

 

I think I might not have escaped the Gravity Room at all. I have to be inside it, with how hard it is to stand. But it doesn't matter: one g, twenty gees.. a thousand. I manage. I have to, though I am half-sure this is not my first try. I have a vague recollection of a previous attempt getting thwarted by that blue-haired vixen. But she’s not here now and I am out of the medical ward and hobbling into a hallway. Nothing stands in my way; nothing but exhaustion, a broken body, and what should have been a laughable amount of gravity - Earth’s pull. In essence, nothing new.

 

Now, where was I again? Can’t seem to find my way in these corridors. Oppressive. Small. I turn and turn again. But at least I remember. This is not Space, but Earth. Capsule Corp. Where was I going? Oh yes; Gravity Room. Super Saiyan. I have dedicated myself to that. I have vowed to make it happen. Force it. Obtain it. Now that I know it is possible — not just believe, know — seen it with my own eyes, twice. So it’s not like there can only be one. And... it should be easy. I’ll be the legend, defeat Kakarot, be all I was meant to be. It was prophesied.

 

It should be easy, but so far it has proven to be anything but. And in chasing my goal I have lost sight of the track, my surroundings, and my own safety. What is wrong with me? Have I become so coddled and so sure that nothing could challenge me on this plush little planet that I would throw caution in the wind? Disgusted with myself, I finally find the door to the outside. Fresh air hits my face, clears my ringing head. It does little to lift my spirits; now I can truly take stock of the pathetic shape I am in.

 

“Oh, my!” I hear from the side, and it’s the mother. I think that just this once I have to agree with her sentiments: my legs are shaking. Every step I take hurts, and the walk from the house to the new GR feels so long. The new one the woman built when I was out. How is that possible? Every broken memory I have of waking up had her at my side. It makes me anxious to find out how many days.. weeks... I have lost.

 

That’s right, human. I am on the mend. I was worse off. This much I know. And of course the other, worrisome fact: I put myself in that position. Me, by my own hand; my own worst enemy.

 

So, another failure, leaving me with nothing and no way to continue. Leaving myself pathetically open for any attack and how do you think those Z-fighters react? That’s right. More maddening, disgracing kindness. With my strength still a disappointment and my reliability at a new-time low, I’d have thought even these confusing creatures would tire of me. But no, they keep up their painfully obvious mercies like I haven't told them to fuck off.. how many times?

 

Did I say the scar-face warrior was too weak to touch me? Well, he touched me. Carried me to medical and could have killed me twenty times over. Hell, he could have just left me and they'd have been rid of me. Did I say the woman could not hurt me if she tried? I guess she can hurt me plenty without trying. Or maybe that was me. Maybe she just provided me with that piece of rope and I hung myself…

 

No; I need not fear these people. They are not out to get me, as the woman proves again when her face pops up on the console. It is odd to realise that the vixen’s screams are born from some naive sense of protecting me from myself. Of course, during the process she also notifies anyone that might intercept her messages about my sorry state. I wonder how many of Frieza’s forces are out there, listening to her broadcasts? They must be salivating at the thought. ‘Oh, you missed a step. Feeling off balance?’ she delights in pointing out. Then her mood swings in another perfect 180 as she angrily laments about the stupidity of Saiyans and men in general.

 

Yet I am back on my feet and swinging punches again, lest any fool think they still have a chance. You humans might be too addled in the brain to mount a decent assassination attempt, but I know for a fact the stars are filled with less foolhardy creatures. They missed their free shot though. I’m up. I’m fighting... Damn. I think I tore some stitches.

 

‘There you go. Now you’re bleeding again in three places. Very macho.’ She quips at me in a too airy staccato, like it hurts her to look at me. She's right, but that is not the a reason I’m floundering. No; it has little to do with the damage my body has taken. Let’s face it, if there’s one thing Saiyans are good at it’s pushing through the pain. The panic that first caused my little mishaps with the previous GR has ebbed down to a dull throb of despair, and not even the knowledge that I’ve gotten another Zenkai boost helps lift my spirits.

 

Oh, didn't I forget to mention, human? I am well and truly at the level Kakarot was when he reached Super Saiyan: one hundred gees. One hundred and twenty, at one point. It should be as easy as snapping my fingers now to turn on that form. Alas, so far nothing has happened, no matter how much I power up. I’ll be honest; when I felt the GR coming apart, I was nearly certain that little adrenaline ride would be the final push. The final snap I’d need… alas, it was not.

 

Why not? This Is ridiculous; I should be there. I have done everything. I have tried everything. Yet it has obviously, maddeningly, not been enough. It is ludicrous, impossible. But perhaps it is time to admit that I have absolutely no idea left on how to attain Super Saiyan now. I’ve tried everything I could think of, and it did not work. Pathetic.

 

No, I refuse to admit defeat. There is one other thing I can do. One thing that might —that has to work. I am need a second opinion, preferably from someone with a clear mind and a skill in information gathering. And as I am apparently guest of the ‘greatest mind on Earth’, I hardly need to go far to procure a genius brain to fix my dilemma. She’s screaming at me right now, in fact. Something about alarms.

 

“You know what that sound is? That is the live-sign alarms telling you you are dying.” ever the drama queen.

 

“Woman, I have a job for you,” I say, but it would serve me better to keep this private. “Get your ass to the Gravity Room and I’ll instruct you.”

 

It shuts her up. But only a moment as confusion is replaced by anger flashing in full force. “If you think I’ll help you with your little suicide run, go fuck yourself.”

 

And, she’s gone. I finally got her to leave me be, at the very moment I actually required her presence? And why am I even surprised she’d talk back to me like this. The woman was hardly intimidated by me before. Why should she suddenly fear me now that her precious Goku has returned? He can squash me like a bug every moment I doddle, unable to ascend. And now I’ve gone and upset his mistress.

 

Yes, let’s face facts.The leader was never Kakarot. That became obvious only moments after the fool’s return: Kakarot is not and will never be in charge of anything.

Which is, all things considered, a good thing. Much as he has proven to be an amazing fighter, he is... surprisingly clueless about everything else. A jarring fact; one would expect someone of power to wield it like a king. But he seems as uninterested in doing so as his ‘friends’ seem uninterested in giving him proper homage.

 

My second guess had been the harpy that is married to Kakarot. She obviously scares the third-class, definitely spends enough time commanding him, and I understand she used to be a fighter before she retired. Yet it hardly adds up. It is possible that she somehow hides her true power, but she seems terribly weak. And the amount of running off on her both Kakarot and the half-breed brat do —without much in the way of punishment dished out, convinces me there is little bite behind her bark.

 

No, it has to be the blue-haired woman who is pulling the strings. She’s the one in control. Of course she is. It is obvious, now I think about it. She and Kakarot go back a long time and she gets every one of those weakling fighters to do her biddings at every turn. Follow the money is what you humans say, right?

 

But I won't let her order me around, and I keep training half an hour more just to prove it so. Though training is somewhat a strong term. I flounder about a bit, tilting left and right under gravities I had long-since conquered, while the machine flashes an indignant red at my antics to warn me about all kinds of hazards. The force drops away completely at one point, and it is a testament to my exhaustion that it takes me a few minutes to realise. I’m not even sure why I bother. Proving that you cannot be ordered around is a lousy way to start negotiations.

 

And so we get to the crux of the problem, I consider as I turn off the GR. I have precious little few bargaining chips left, and the little lady is used to getting her way. Nonetheless I will show her I am of different caliber. I refuse to be bullied or buttered like her Z-floozies and the best she’ll get from me is a negotiation on equal terms. Yes, that would be a little less pathetic, I decide as I leave the GR in search of her. We’ll negotiate and it’ll be a trade.

 

**00-00**

**special thanks to my betas over8000 and meganechan720. oi, got a tumblr with art at theash0. go check it out. I R got vegebul novaumber comix?**


	20. alpha

Hangar five was of moderate size with a capacity for ten pods. It only held two now, and was deserted except for two Saiyans and the technical overseer. The yellow toad hovered near the entrance, ready to follow its colleagues out at the first sight of trouble. Vegeta ignored the little wart-face completely and focused on the work instead, sliding deeper into the ship’s side panel on his back as he checked the maintenance lights. Earlier, he had strong-armed the technician into giving him the manual; now Vegeta displayed it on on his scouter and checked the schematics  against the panel readouts.

 

Nappa hovered over him in awestruck silence as he worked. The hulk’s nervous awe only lent credit to the idea that Saiyans should not be left alone with gear, which was probably what was on the overseeing mechanic's mind. Vegeta agreed insofar that such work was far beneath him, but if he was going to get blown up he’d like it to be his own fault for once. He’d get blamed for it later anyway. 

 

The tense atmosphere was getting to Vegeta, and though he really didn't think Nappa would provide any meaningful conversation, there was one little thing Nappa could help him understand. One thing Vegeta could not wrap his head around. 

 

“So, Nappa. Coli and Kura, they’re twins, right?”

 

“What? Yes. Yes they are. Well it’s kind of obvious, huh?” The buffoon shifted, caught off guard, and the pod groaned softly as he took his weight off where he’d been leaning on it with his arms. Nappa paused, then his voice turned somewhat wistful. “They do resemble each other a bit.”

 

That was the understatement of the year! Vegeta’s eye twitched in response to a rather harsh flashing light. He couldn't find it in the manual, or maybe he was mixing it up with another. At least the lights couldn't act indignant about it. “Yes, but there are differences. Right?” They’d both told him as much.

 

“Of course,” Nappa nodded. “There’s the tits, obviously.” The big man outside sighed heavily.  “Fuck yeah. Tits. They’re one thing that makes Saiyan women superior to all others. A mammal thing, they say. Beautiful, soft, round tits. You know?”

 

“Of course I know what teats are,” Vegeta snapped, “but they are wearing identical sets of armor!” Armor which completely hid any boobs or lack thereof. So for all intents and purposes, it was an insignificant difference. This might not have been the best time to address this. Vegeta felt his temper flare, and this was delicate work. “So... Nappa... You never have... trouble telling Coli and Kura apart? Not even in battle?”

 

“Of course not. Kura’s hair is so soft and feminine. And she smells so sweet.” Nappa stepped closer, crouched down, and tried to make eye contact. “Why, how could anyone… my prince? Ah, fuck. You’re not having trouble telling them—” 

 

“Don’t be asinine,” Vegeta cut in angrily as he shoved himself deeper into the pod and turned away, no longer interested in pursuing the subject. “Why, they are obviously different. It’s just that you’re an idiot. So, I was just curious.”

 

But damn. Did this mean he’d either have to sniff them or feel up their hair before he’d know who he was addressing? This was becoming a issue. He’d had all sort of creatures tell him that all Saiyans looked alike, but he’d never had that problem himself before. None of his Saiyan squad seemed to struggle with it either, but as far as Vegeta could tell the pair were identical. Vegeta had switched to just ‘hey you’ after he’d addressed the wrong twin several times the first week. Both acted like it was so obvious that Vegeta started to doubt his perception. Not that any of them had had much time to dwell on it. 

 

Life had turned hectic pretty fast after Vegeta received command of his first squad. Near a year had passed, but they’d spent over two thirds of it traveling and most of the rest too busy to hash things through. Within a week of meeting his Saiyan squad, Frieza had offered them a little warm-up mission: a planet of mediocre size, inhabited by some form of simple animal. It had seemed like the ideal way to begin.

 

Shortly after launch, Vegeta realised he had been a fool to accept. Just before he entered  cryo-sleep for the month long journey, Raditz had hailed him in alarm because his fuel tank had been nearly empty. When the Prince checked the other ships, it turned out Raditz was not the only one without enough fuel for the round trip. So Vegeta had ordered a return to base and nearly lost it at the workers in charge of his pods. But only minutes into his tirade, Zarbon had cut in and announced that fuel and provisions were obviously a commander's — _ Vegeta’s _ responsibility. 

 

The memory of the lecture that had followed only riled up Vegeta further, so the young teen pulled a cable a little too roughly and was left with an entire slate of computer parts in his hand. He swore softly, hoping Nappa did not notice. Honestly, the prince should be thankful to Zarbon. If he had not been so infuriated at him, Vegeta doubted he would have made his squad check their inventories to take out his frustrations on them. It turned out that none of them had had enough rations or water on board either. In the end, they had gotten lucky. 

 

The Saiyans had lost considerably more time on the second mission. Again, the briefing had been little more thorough than half a screen on his scouter. A planet with intelligent life, but with such low power levels Vegeta had not thought twice about it. He’d made sure they had provisions and fuel this time, and had headed out. 

 

Of course he found out on site that reconnaissance and intelligence gathering had become his job too; the briefing provided was only a starting point. It also turned out that although the inhabitants lacked fighting power, they well made up for it with teamwork and coordinated  _ retreats _ . The natives had evaded the Saiyans for months by hiding, somehow tricking the scouter’s power readings by finding refuge deep underground. The defenders took losses but could not be completely exterminated. In the end, the Prince was just lucky he and Raditz had discussed the strange interference that kept popping up on their scouters, and finally figured out they were listening in on enemy broadcasts. Yet with no materials at hand to help figure out the language, it had taken another month to decipher what the natives were saying. Once the language barrier was cracked, figuring out the hiding places and wiping the creatures out had been child’s play. Vegeta and his team had run ridiculously late, but in retrospect making it out alive and well was not that poor of a consolation prize, as they soon found out

 

For their third and previous mission had been presented right after the debrief. Vegeta shuddered when he recalled it and nearly dropped the plate he had been trying to return to its position. What a horror! It was a quiet planet with little technology. The creatures seemed to be little more intelligent or dangerous than the common space-fly. The Saiyans had rejoiced, seen it as a holiday. Vegeta had been tense during the entire trip and purge, so sure something unexpected would happen. He’d sighed in relief when they had entered cryo-sleep for the return journey on schedule and with enough fuel and inventory to get them home.

 

The worst homecoming imaginable had followed. His first memories of waking had been fuzzy and the docking procedures for landing on Frieza’s ship had roused them with difficulty. The haze had stayed too long; Vegeta was only dimly aware that something very wrong and alien was moving inside his body. They had landed with the usual heavy shock impact, and then all hell had broken out. Vegeta felt a sickening ‘pop’ as his gut burst open. His withered insides had been entwined with a wild sputtering mass, intestines ran red with blood, gnawed on by white parasitic worms as long as a finger. He started to scream, and was soon joined by his Saiyan team-mates as the pod hatches opened. The panicked medical personnel shouted and rushed to their aid in the landing bays. 

 

That was the only time Vegeta had voluntarily gone through the decontamination process twice. He’d come back a third time, after a stay in the the healing tanks, and scrubbed himself clean on his own. It had been a close call for the whole team, and the bloody carouselle of memories was still viciously clear.

 

Vegeta sighed when the computer part he had just put back in place fell down again. Just another little problem. It was probably his responsibility too. Just like the worms had been; they had apparently consumed the larvae with the water on planet. The worms had proven immune to the stasis gas that accompanied cryo sleep, a problem that had become more frequent for the entire PTO and something Vegeta ‘should have known about’. The pods were outfitted with all sorts of fail-safes to protect a soldier’s health: from keeping tabs on life signs to warning home-base and putting the ship’s occupant in an absolute-zero cold sleep. That should have theoretically halted the growth of any biological hazard picked up during a mission, but none of these failsafes had been kept in working order—yet another thing Vegeta should have kept an eye on. This was what had led to his now failing attempt to check out Nappa’s pod.

 

Vegeta gave up on trying to fix the panel this way. “Hand me a soldering iron, will you?” he called to Nappa. It should be an easy fix, and probably would be done better if Vegeta did it himself. The only pod that had engaged cold sleep had been Nappa’s, and it had not worked correctly. Nappa had been eaten almost as much as the rest of the squad and had also suffered brain-damage from the cooling process. The poor brute had been in the healing tanks for a week longer than the others, so it was not all bad that their systems had not kicked in.

 

Vegeta blindly reached out one hand outside the pod, and closed his fingers around the tool.  But when he looked at the it, he realized it was not the right one. “Nappa, that's a screwdriver.”  

 

Why he had expected better now baffled the prince. Nappa offered some kind of apology, little more than stuttering, which caused Vegeta to stifle a groan. Once again, he wondered if Nappa's brain damage had been fixed at all. Trying to explain the differences between tools to this Saiyan simpleton seemed like too much trouble. Vegeta would just have to dumb down his orders to the giant half-wit instead. So he slid out from under the ship, rubbed at his eyes and resolved to finally place the blame on somebody else. With a malicious grin, he pointed at the unlucky overseer. “Just get me that mechanic instead.”

 

The creature yelped, even made a run for it. Nappa might be slow upstairs but he could move fast enough. He caught the creature before it even made it out the door, scooped it up and simply carried it to Vegeta. The prince relished the fear on the little thing's face, then started to complain about shoddy maintenance on the pod. Next he promised to hold the little twit responsible if anything broke on their upcoming mission. His tirade grew into a cathartic one sided shouting match that finally gave Vegeta a chance to vent his frustrations.

 

Frustrations about his missions, his Saiyans, and of course those _ fucking debriefings _ . The debriefings were the worst. After their first mission, Frieza had called Vegeta’s squad in to explain their hectic departure. Only the tyrant and Zarbon had been present, and though the blue elite seemed to enjoy Vegeta's stuttered explanation, Frieza himself had acted worried and helpful. After all of their problems had been discussed, Frieza had offered a second mission to prove themselves and make up for their errors. 

 

Of course, more trouble came. On their return trip from the second and painfully late purge Dodoria, Captain Ginyu and three other elites he had never met had shown up to hear Vegeta’s inadequate and apparently hilarious explanation.

 

Frieza had asked twice for the guests to quiet their sniggering, but had not seemed too upset or willing to shut them up with violence. Then the tyrant had asked Vegeta if he'd rather forget the whole Saiyan command thing and join Frieza’s entourage instead. The young Saiyan had been mortified.

 

Vegeta had already had over a week to worry about the third debriefing since Nappa was still in the healing tank and Frieza had requested the entire squad to be present. He had been right to worry; it had been little more than a public humiliation. The whole Ginyu squad was there, asking questions like, “how could this have happened?”, “who was responsible?”, and “why didn’t you know this?” — words he now handily dished out to the petrified mechanic.

 

After what seemed like an eternity, Frieza had shushed the others. Then it said Vegeta was obviously too young to be given such responsibilities, and had repeated its offer for Vegeta to join its entourage. When Vegeta declined, Zarbon had been appointed to oversee their next mission. For their own  _ safety. _ How humiliating. 

 

When his tirade finally ran out of steam, Vegeta tossed the panel at the unlucky toad-man and strode out with a last “see that it's properly fixed this time,” Nappa on his heels. 

 

If Frieza thought Vegeta would quit so easily, he had another thing coming. Saiyan Princes didn't do giving up; Vegeta least of all. Besides, his squad would not last long without him. Who would lead in his stead? None of the other Saiyans had the brains or the dedication to keep them alive. 

 

Well, there was Raditz. Raditz was smart and diligent and could be put to any task, but they would never accept him as leader. He was not just a third class; he was young and weak. No, one of those old men would take over, no doubt. And  _ they  _ were  _ useless _ .

 

This brought Vegeta’s thoughts to the senior Saiyans. Ugh. Vegeta decided to visit the hangar to the far side, where Raditz was to instruct the two old geezers how to check their own pods for faults. That was something Vegeta had decided against even trying to teach Nappa; the task was far beyond the simpleton. The elders should be able to do it themselves, though, with the help of a good and patient teacher. And Raditz had enough patience, or at least a lot more than Vegeta ever would. Still, the prince had little doubt the two would make Raditz's life as difficult as they could.

 

Though, honestly, Vegeta wouldn’t be too sad if Raditz failed and one of those old fools had a little ‘technical mishap’; Nion in particular. The elder professed to be wise, and enjoyed speaking in clever-sounding proverbs. But the few times Vegeta had swallowed his pride and enlisted the old man’s help, Nion had proven himself slow of wit, lacking initiative, and barely literate. That didn't stop him from comparing Vegeta to his father, or to even dare ask if the king would have approved. It got the teen’s blood boiling the way the old elite insinuated and manipulated him. Even worse, it worked. It made Vegeta want to try harder; to at least protect his meager squad, a squad that— despite Frieza’s insistence that there were plenty of  Saiyans— was still a few monkeys short of a full barrel. 

 

Vegeta had received two new additions to his team just the other day; a large first-class with a dull personality called Papple and a rough elite by the name of Nangock, who preferred to go by Jack. It brought their total number, including Vegeta, up to nine. Of course, a full squad would have twelve people. The new pair would not be very helpful either; good for little outside of blasting shit to pieces, which was a shame. That was the one job Vegeta still enjoyed, despite the strange lethargy that had taken control of him lately.

Vegeta nodded as he marched on. Raditz was the only member of the squad with half a brain, really. Nappa was a simpleton, and Lekus... Lekus was a disrespectful, rude bastard who revelled in pointing out all the shortcomings in Vegeta’s work. Only after the fact, of course. It had not gone unnoticed by Vegeta that the idiot could hardly be bothered to read the team briefings - briefings which Vegeta had worked pretty damn hard on. The prince had to go through through tons of unsorted paperwork to locate intel on available planets. The materials were often difficult to access, written in a language Vegeta didn’t understand, and not even properly indexed. But all Lekus ever offered was a useless ‘I bet it'll be harder than you think’, and an ‘I told you so’ after the fact.

 

Grunting in annoyance, Vegeta came to a sudden stop. He and Nappa had reached the far hangar, and Raditz was indeed working hard on one of the pods allocated to them. The old men were not causing a scene, but they were not helping, that much was for sure. No, they were drinking tea.  _ Tea _ . While he had specifically told them to learn.  _ Good.  _ Because Vegeta found he still had some insults left to dole out that fit this lot far better than the mechanic. Words like ‘useless.’

 

The Prince upended the table and spilled their tea. He had quite a few more words for them, and so he kept railing on the old losers without listening to their apologies. “Stupid.” 

 

And they fit the descriptives better anyway.  Because it wasn't him, dammit. He wasn’t the ‘failure’.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (still have great betas tnx amy, over8000. also, got tumbr @ theash0)


	21. want

She's down in her den; a lab in the lower catacombs of Capsule Corp. Hiding, I suppose.Though she should know I can sniff her out by her ki —puny though it is. The door is open, and I can hear her tinkering away. Slow wafts of smoke claw their way out from the entrance and into the hallway like some hungry beast.

I’ve never been down here before and given a choice, I think I’ll never return again. The place is dark, oppressive, and in severe need of a better ventilation system. What possesses a woman of means to seclude herself in such a deprived little hell? Small wonder she’s so weird.

Before I can come up with a decent plan of attack, the vixen beats me to the punch. Something hits the tabletop with a clunk; and I hear her sigh as she announces, "come on in, Vegeta. I know you are out there."

Well damn. Guess she's not hiding. With a grunt I enter her lair, and regret it instantly; the air inside is as thick and solid as a curtain. A brown, filthy one. Although the chamber itself is spacious enough, the hallway has more room to manoeuvre. Bookshelves line all the walls, filled with a large assortment of items; everything except for actual books, which are placed in large stacks on the floor. It’s a labyrinth of contraptions, running in every direction. The only clear path is to her desk, half-way in. The desk itself has only enough space cleared for her hands and her current project.

I quickly realise how she found me out. Monitors are suspended over the desk and while one shows a zoom-in of her work, the two others are clearly surveillance cameras. The left shows an obvious and familiar place: the Gravity Room. I tell myself I should not be surprised, shouldn't bother worrying about such things like being watched. Raditz told me I’d drive myself mad worrying about shit like this, and he was the expert. No; it’s actually a good thing she likes to spy. It’s exactly what I need her for. "I thought I told you I had a job for you?"

Bulma turns in her revolving chair to face me, and lights up another cigarette to take a deep drag, then breathes out the stench like she’s Shenron’s spawn. Once again, she’s all smiles and familiarity when she was screaming at me less than an hour ago. "Oh, Vegeta. How nice to see you’ve finally heeded my warning and dragged yourself away from my invention. Amazing though it is, I really think it’s time for a break, don't you? So ask away. What is it that you require of the world's greatest genius?"

I just broke several bones, not to mention five ribs, why would I need any more breaks? The woman seems in a good enough mood, reclining in her chair, so perhaps I am better off leaving her with her silly misconceptions.

"Right." I turn and run my hand along a contraption that reminds me of a mechanical winged beast. Its head is at my eye level, and my finger leaves a near-white streak on the brown surface. Ugh. I wipe the grime off on my shorts quickly, suddenly missing my gloves. "Well there is one little thing you could help me with. Just a little thing." I clear my throat again. It must be the smoke.

This gets her attention. She leans forward and brings the long cigarette to her mouth halfway before thinking better of it, then extinguishes the little smokestick in an ashtray by her side. There is a soft smile on her lips as she states, "well, I'm always happy to help out, Vegeta." She blinks and that weird look crosses her face. "Is your room comfortable? Are you getting enough to eat?"

  
I nearly bark out a laugh, but quickly disguise it as a cough. Yes, she is always happy to help... too happy. What is this game? Is she rubbing my nose in the help I’ve already received? "Oh yeah. It's... fine. Enough food. Everything's been... adequate?" Yes, I'm playing it down, but as far as I’m concerned the negotiations have already started. I look back at her, crossing my arms as I lean back against the doorframe.

"Good! I was worried about you for a bit there, Vegeta." The woman puts her elbows on her knees, hands twitchy with vacancy. "So, you said you wanted help with a project. Would you like another upgrade to the GR? Or perhaps something else for your training? If you just take a few days off, I bet I can whip you up something special."

A weird laugh bubbles out of my gut at that, and I disguise it as another cough. Is she going to make me state the obvious? Fine. “That would be pointless.”

She freezes and sits back. Her face goes through a myriad of expressions from surprise to confusion to an odd frown, like I just said something very scary. Kami, but I hope she’s faking it. Yet if she is, she is the best actor in the universe and that might be worse. Her voice is sad when she responds. "Pointless? I'm surprised to hear you of all people say that."

This isn’t getting us anywhere. I shake my head, angry that I have to explain. "I’m as powerful as Kakarot was when he challenged Frieza, maybe even more so. But it's not working. There has to be some sort of... trick to it. Some kind of..." I gesture wildly, unwilling to say it out loud. It's not about skill. It’s not. "Technique? I don't know how, woman. I need to know how Kakarot did it."

Bulma taps a finger to her chin as she thinks for a moment. "Why, that shouldn’t be a problem. Would you like me to give Goku a call? I'm sure he'd be happy to help too. I bet he’d come right over."

I almost tell her that nobody would be stupid enough to reveal his greatest secret to an enemy... but who am I kidding. Kakarot is definitely that stupid. Regardless, there are some levels I don’t want to sink to if I have even one other option left. "You think I have no pride left? You would have me run to that third-class simpleton and be taught like I’m— that idiot’s disciple?"

Oh, I think I'm going to be ill.

"Okay, sorry." She holds up her hands. "I wish you’d give Goku some credit; I know he can be a bit airheaded. I wasn't trying to offend you. So, what do you expect me to do? Unless you believe that basking in my scintillating company will make you magically turn Super Saiyan.” Bulma stops then smoothes her hair with one hand as she flutters her eyelashes. “Which, honestly, does seem like a viable theory."

I refuse to by side tracked by whatever that's supposed to mean. "Well he's your..." What’s the word, "friend, right? I mean, he'd tell you." Hell, the woman could even say she was doing research. For science. Not that it matters. Kakarot would never suspect his ahh... odd-found knowledge ... would be used for evil. Oh, the idea calms me down well. I nearly smile.

"So you’d like me to talk to Kakarot for you about how to become a Super Saiyan?" She gives me a look like that’s the oddest thing she’s ever heard. Though, really, what gives her the right to judge me? She’s the one on a weird planet with this entire fantasy freak-parade. "Oh Vegeta, I wouldn't even know what to ask about..." She trails off and gets that far away look in her eyes. I think she gets it now. Yes, she is a scientist. A clever one at that. And apparently she enjoys spying, so this is right up her alley. Oh, I knew she would not acquiesce easily. That is fine.

"Okay." Good. Finally I’ll have her demands clear; she’ll tell me what she wants of me, and we can trade. No more surprises. No more guessing at her motives. "Yeah, ok. I get it. You want something in return to compensate you for your time." Hell, the thing that worried me most was she’d leave it open. Put me in debt to her. Little minx, not this time. "So what would you want?" I just hope it’s either someone dead or stress testing an invention.

I seem to have broken her trail of thought, and she fixes me with that sad look again. "What do I want," Bulma repeats, like it’s a weird thing to ask. Foot tapping, she takes way too long to answer, frowning worriedly. Finally she reaches for her coat pocket, then catches herself, a slow smile spreads across her face. "Well, for starters, I'd like to make sure that my people are safe. Those androids are coming in a few years, but to be honest right now I’m more worried about you. And if I help you become a Super Saiyan, then I want you to use those skills to defeat them. Fair enough?"

I shouldn't care about her acknowledgement, but it’s so nice to be seen as a threat once again. Because it’s been too long, and it's rightly my due. That’s right! I’m the real danger. Me! Feheheh. Also, it seems the job she wants me to do is... not doing any work? It’s a good deal, but there's one little hitch. "I still want to fight Kakarot. But I suppose I could hold out till after the androids are dead."

She smiles in earnest now; I realise the previous grin was more of a stage move, and this is real, carefree happiness on her face. “Right, I don't think I could stop you two. Besides, Goku would be so disappointed if he didn't get to fight you as well! So, here's the deal. I'll start doing some research— I'll talk with Goku, Krillin, Tien... and I’ll see if I can find a common thread. In the meantime, don't kill anyone. Just relax and maybe get to know people. When was the last time you took a vacation?"

Vacate what? She’s talking in riddles. I tisk at her in annoyance. Worse still, so much for me being seen as a threat. She is not even one bit afraid of what will happen after I’ve defeated Kakarot. I guess when Earth’s hero comes into play, the woman’s faith is absolute. But she talks over any objections. “I bet if you got to know our crew, you’d find you have more in common with them than you realise. Yamcha used to be a desert bandit, oh, and Tien. Not to mention Piccolo...” She trails off again and gets a dreamy look in her eyes.

This woman really is weird. I have absolutely no interest in getting to know any of these creatures, yet I can see the advantage of gathering some intel. Besides, I know just where to start, so I bare my teeth at her. "Deal."

 


	22. Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zarbon spins some yarn.

“The landing itself was a disgrace.” Zarbon’s voice was light, like a melody. “It’s a good thing all witnesses are dead now, lest they speak of it.” His words somehow intertwined perfectly with the beat in Vegeta’s head. “You’d think that no Saiyan has ever tried to land a pod manually before.” The vaulted space of high ceilings, filled with frigid air, felt like it was pushing down on him; cold and overbearing. Yet the drum inside the Saiyan’s skull pushed back in relentless rhythmic waves, merciless and strong. 

 

The tyrant had moved its court from the ship to this cavernous palace on Frieza 15, an old and frozen planet, in all likelihood to give the long-braided elite a better stage for its one-man play. “I’m confused, though, because Technical assured me the act was so simple any primate could have done it.” 

 

As a commander, Vegeta found himself in the middle of the line flanked by his Saiyans, four on either side. All nine Saiyans stood at attention, forced to listen as Zarbon perverted the recount of their latest mission into a farcical play, for the double audience of Frieza at their front and a gathered crowd at their backs. Landing on a planet like this, with an actual city, was rare. However, the main ship was scheduled to stay planetside for the next year, and Vegeta grown to hate everything about this rock already. It was cold, dark, covered with snow, and inhabited by all kinds of freaks that had flocked in to witness his latest public debasement.

 

Vegeta breathed out slowly when Zarbon paused, and stared straight at Frieza through the clouds of his breath. The tyrant looked away as if embarrassed, as the beings behind the Prince chuckled softly at each punchline. Vegeta could see clearly now. This setup was no coincidence: it was deliberate, a crested magpie of lies meant to shame Vegeta into acquiescence.

 

In front of the throne, Zarbon started to pace, its step still springy on account of the planet’s low gravity. “To my surprise they did manage to regroup, though it took over half an hour. But, what do you think our monkeys did first thing when they found each other? That’s right, they all got lost and separated again.” 

 

This time the crowd at Vegeta’s back laughed a little louder, now assured that no punishment would occur for it. The Ice-lord itself seemed to miss the whole joke, its eyes off to the side somewhere. 

 

Vegeta kept his feet planted firmly and lifted his chin another inch, anything to keep his hands behind his back from clenching. There were too many monsters waiting to catch any tell of weakness, and the Prince had never missed his cape so much. That little measure of privacy would have meant a lot right now against these vultures, as he could expect no protection from their ridicule by the lizard emperor. But holding his temper was probably important, though the blood-drums in his head suggested a different path.

 

Zarbon continued its tale like some bard, so engrossed and pleased by its own voice. Vegeta tuned it out and listened to the song in his blood instead while he studied the lizard. That bored front, that feigned indifference to the whole show. Yet this was likely another part of the game. A game Vegeta would lose just by giving in and accepting the Lizard’s offer to leave his command and join its entourage instead. A game Vegeta had no idea how to win. A game he knew he hated. All he could do was hold on, not give in. But the song strumming inside him sang of explosions instead, of blowing off as many heads of those cowards at his back as he could— too cowardly to laugh at his face. It sang of launching himself at Zarbon or even Frieza; just tearing off a chunk for the road and seeing what would happen if Vegeta quit playing...

 

The voice carrying across the room again joined in with the thumping blood in his ears, and Vegeta could not help but listen: “—so that’s how we ended up with seven Saiyans panicking and running after their commander across an empty desert, while one engaged the capital alone and had to flee for his life.”

 

_That’s not how it happened._ _That’s not how it happened, that’s not how it happened!_ The phrase was like a chorus in his head. Their scouters had not functioned, an effect caused by the planet’s magnetic fields. Vegeta had anticipated interference but working without communication devices, maps, or any way to detect positions of enemy and friendly troops alike had been hard. Maybe they had lost their way a few times, but at least he had made provisions to find each other if separated. It had just taken more time than usual to clear the planet, but that had hardly been a surprise. Vegeta had even asked for extra time before they left. Unsurprisingly, his request had been denied.

 

This time even Frieza hid its mouth behind one hand to disguise what was obviously a chuckle. No; this was part of the game too. What would happen if Vegeta just blasted away some random people, told Frieza to go fuck itself, and left? He  _ needed _ to know, and the moment to find out had come. In the silence that followed Frieza cleared its throat, pretended to be uncomfortable. It was all for show, Vegeta could see that now. 

 

The monster spoke again, its voice kind and sad. “So, I guess it didn't turn out too well. I am glad you are hale, my little Prince. But, we can all see this could have turned out much, much worse. Perhaps it’s time we... put an end to this, ah, farce? It’s degrading, and you would come to rights so much better at my side…”

 

Frieza smiled at him, and Vegeta felt his face twist in answer. To suggest again, and in company, to become one of its lap dogs. Another Zarbon, standing at its side, playing retainer… like some servant. Just the idea pushed him past reason, and Vegeta resolved to take no more _. He would go for the jugular, rip that purple lizard to shreds. Or just die trying. Probably die trying.  _ Vegeta let his mouth open to a silent snarl as he stared back at the tyrant.

 

The lizard just sat still and blinked down at him from its hover chair. Vegeta could feel the Saiyans at both his sides fidget, even Raditz, who had been calm as ever during the entire debasement. Still the Prince stayed frozen, unwilling to back down. Even as the crowd started to murmur. Vegeta looked on, unimpressed, as the tyrant slowly lost its kind smile. Another slow blink, and the pink ice-jin raised one hand to inspect its immaculately manicured nails. Perfectly clean, not a speck of blood left on them. Vegeta got the hint, but why not call its bluff? With the drumbeat in his head still singing, it seemed worth the risk.

 

It wasn’t worth it, logic dictated. He would die, just like his father. Yet his heart disagreed, and the drums drowned out that voice of reason. If these were his choices right now— taking a piece out of that pompous monster, or  _ begging _ for another mission which was bound to end in failure once again— why even bother? The only reason he hesitated to act was that attacking Frieza now would be the same as admitting failure. The game was rigged, though. Vegeta would never get acknowledged for a job well done. So it was just stubbornness keeping him going. Well, the Prince was honest enough to admit he had more than enough stubbornness for one man. But he had more pride still, and he would not lower himself to—

 

“Please give us one more chance,  _ Master  _ Frieza, I know we can do it!” 

 

Vegeta cursed out loud and turned to his left, nearly exploding at the audacity, the betrayal. Raditz! Out of all of his squad, the only one he’d thought he could count on was Raditz. And now, he was just…  _ kneeling _ to that monster, again. This time, Vegeta did snarl, but it was a wordless sound. What else could be said to the third-class now, except that Vegeta hated him for opening his mouth. 

 

After another long stretch of silence, Vegeta realised something was expected of him. He wasn’t going to play the game anymore though, so instead he gave the tyrant a defiant glare. It had the decency to look uncomfortable and actually fidgeted a bit. “I see you have a problem with insubordination, Vegeta. Would you like some help with that?” 

 

As riled up as the Prince felt, he realized Raditz had ticked the monster off. Which, at the moment, seemed ridiculously funny. Oh, so Frieza thought a third-class Saiyan should not even be allowed to address the emperor? Well, Vegeta happened to disagree there. He grinned up at the creature and took one step forward. Perhaps if he could close the distance without putting the tyrant on guard he’d be able to tear that piece off. He was interrupted once more though. 

 

Nappa stepped in front of the Prince and dropped to one knee next to the third-class teen. “Vegeta is the best commander I ever had, Lord Frieza.” 

 

His words stalled Vegeta’s advance. Because damn... they were buttering him up, stroking his ego. And worse, it was working. The drums faded and reason popped up its useless head. 

 

Nappa was insistent: “If anything went wrong it’s probably because the rest of us are too stupid to follow where he leads. Please let us try again.”

 

This gave him pause, because Nappa was too stupid to lie. Too stupid, therefore he probably believed what he said. Vegeta didn’t really understand, and perhaps that was what pushed back those weakened drumbeats in his mind as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening. Raditz was clever enough to lie, but he’d never been dishonest to his prince. Why was he speaking up? Was he afraid to die? They’d probably all be goners if Frieza decided to end the Prince. Yet somehow that didn't seem right.  

 

“Well…” Frieza spoke, as if surprised. Vegeta couldn’t help but whip around and turn his attention back to the monster. “Well, if that’s how you —you  _ all _ feel.”  

 

It looked at Vegeta again, but the prince couldn’t return the gaze. He opened his mouth once, twice. Then from the corner of his eye he noticed the remaining Saiyans drop to one knee. It was funny; even with all their commentary, with all the complaints, they had his back. He had at least eight Saiyans that still believed in him, and right now that was enough.

 

Frieza frowned, not unkindly, and said, “Vegeta, you feel the same way I suppose?”

 

Whatever the object of Frieza's game, this could not be the outcome the tyrant had hoped for. It was enough for Vegeta; so the Saiyan Prince smiled for real and nodded. This time, there was no mistaking the slight bunching of its jaw as Frieza took the scene in. Yet it did not push for more, and Vegeta knew he had finally won a round.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my betas as usual and to you to reading. hope you enjoyed? cant tell if you dont say hi ;)


	23. 23 for science!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thank again to my amazing betas! over8000 and meganechan720!!

Hi there. Can I get your attention for one moment? Yes, I know we don't really talk. I know you’re here to listen to the ravings of my mentally unbalanced house-guest. That’s fine. As much as I am aware that people usually refer to me as a narcissistic know-it-all, that is highly over exaggerated. I mean, I love myself; how could I not? I’m Bulma Briefs. The most intelligent and beautiful creature on the planet. And, now that I’ve seen a bit of space, quite possibly in the galaxy. That said, I have quite the problem on my hands here.

 

That problem is scowling down at me right now. Yes, Vegeta, Prince of all Saiyans.  All two. Damn, that has to sting, right? Well, he does seem angry enough. Despite my best efforts to mollify him. And I’ve certainly tried. Why just today, I let him train -lightly- without complaint, fed him a meal fit for kings (and their extended families), and skilfully convinced him to take a relaxing shower to top it off. 

 

Now I’ve invited him to our nice, cozy living room to overview my findings. I’m even setting a good example: made myself comfortable on the living room couch with my notes spread out  on the low table in front of me. None of it seems to make a difference though. The man is as high-strung as ever. I’m beginning to think that I am somehow offensive to him. In the spirit of another peace offering, I smile and push my notes out. "I have most of the data I need to help you out right here."

 

The tells are there is you know what to look for. That half-baring of teeth before he snaps his jaws together. The twitch as he just barely stops his hands from balling into fists. Just my voice is apparently enough to dispel any wholesome effects today might have had; all tension is back in full force.

 

"Hn,"  Vegeta crosses his arms, straightens up as he stares down at the papers. "What do you mean, 'most'?"

 

Oh yes; I am definitely part of the problem. Or at least, me being nice to him is. But he’s making an effort as well, I now realise and nearly snort in amusement. I have been walking on eggshells with him, giving him everything he could need before he even asks for it. It seemed safest, with the hair trigger he has. Now it seems he’s doing the same with me. How absurd. Absurd, but convenient. 

 

I click my tongue then pick up a paper and hold it up, a little to the side, in a silent invitation for him to join me on the couch and read along with me. "Well, I talked to Goku. Talked to Krillin also, and got some very insightful statements from Gohan here…” 

 

He snatches the paper from me instead, and I blink in surprise. Can he read our language? I was pretty sure he could not, before. The way that he scans the sheet and then quickly becomes confused suggests he had thought he could, but is failing. Of course he is; it’s  _ my  _ handwriting, which is more messy than a doctor’s prescription. But his reaction could not be faked. 

 

Oh, the sneaky  _ bastard _ . I’m not sure how or when he picked it up, but this explains a lot about our GR mishap. I’ve been blaming myself, figuring I must have turned off the safeties by mistake, but him purposefully messing with my system makes a lot more sense. Just learning this nugget of information would have made this whole exercise worth my while, but I’m digging for a bit more. 

 

Ah, you thought I was  _ just helping out _ ? I am! Yet to be any help, I need information. I am a scientist, after all. The more I know about him, the better I’ll do. And yes, I like knowledge in and of itself; I want as much of it as I can get. And this is the perfect opportunity to milk him for all I can. 

 

When he gives up on my handwriting, eyes returning to me in silent question, I continue. “I really could use your take on things, mostly on Saiyan culture and the myth around the Super Saiyan. I'm afraid Goku had absolutely no clues there, so I'm drawing blanks on that front." 

 

I don't miss the way he crumples the paper in his hand at my best friend's name, but he seems to find some measure of satisfaction in my words.  "It figures that idiot is useless." With a flippant air, he discards the paper and makes a spinning motion with his now free hand to prompt me on. "Tell me what you've learned, woman."

 

Disguising what would have been my teeth grinding I smile once more. He thinks he can push me around? Hell no! But it would not do to lose my temper in the midst of researching his. We’re working two fronts here, you see. Yes, I mean to get answers for my questions, but the most important thing is his emotional response. I’ve moved into undefined territory now and I’m going to do a little research into what triggers my houseguest. What sets him off. Between Goku's return and his request for help, I feel safe enough to try and find out.

 

"Okay." Carefully now, I first promise good things to come. "Well, Goku’s transformation was tied to Krillin's death, and I have two possible theories as to why exactly.” Then butter him up a little more, blinking my eyes alluringly for better effect. “But I need your input before I can make any conclusions—” Now, finally, my own set of demands. Just one little push to see what happens. “—I have some questions for you to answer.”

 

He huffs. “Fine, what would you like to _ ask _ ?”

 

I cannot help that bubble of annoyance.  _ Control freak! _ He demands, but apparently _ I  _ make requests. Who does he think he’s talking to? Regardless, I remain pleasant. At least he agrees to listen. "Well, I'd like to know about Saiyan friendships and family. Did you guys form strong bonds with your teammates? Like family?"

 

This is important, you see. And not just or my Super Saiyan research. I thought I had Vegeta’s needs covered well enough. I thought I’d had him... well...not _ reformed _ , obviously, but at least neutralized. I gave the guy a place to sleep, food, and a way to get his anger out. It had worked, or so I thought. On the average day you’d hardly know he lives here. Has been living here for close to a year now. Yes, it took a little planning to stay ahead of his demands. Yet the way he gets so confused and flustered when I show up with what he just realized he needed is so amusing I can hardly consider it a task.

 

An easy job that I thought I had well under control. I know how reforming works; I have a long list of enemies-turned-friends to prove this: Tien, Yamcha, Piccolo... to name a few. All former bad guys that have become assets to our team, just by having a chance to change. To that end I've been nice, understanding, and yes...patient. 

 

How did Vegeta repay me? That's right. He went and blew himself up.

 

It turns out that when you leave a confused Saiyan Prince to his own devices, he will turn his anger in on himself. Who knew? Guess there is still a little something missing, and my money is on companionship. The best way to drive a man insane is isolate him, after all. And this guy seems pretty lonely to me.

 

He blinks a few times and frowns at me like I’ve grown an extra head before finally returning to his all-favourite scowl.  "Tch!" he huffs, as if offended by the question, and turns his gaze off to the side. "We were warriors. We didn't need or want family, they would only hold us back."

 

It is my turn to be confused, because that just does not compute. Humans and Saiyans are close genetically, and us humans? We’re all about friends and family. I mean, I checked us against Nameks and we genetically have more in common with a banana; despite this, Nameks still live in villages and form ties like we do. But Saiyans? We're very close. Keep this under wraps: it’s about a 99.3 % match.

 

How do I know this? Saiyans like to bleed. Goku does. Vegeta’s practically addicted to it. Cleaning up after themselves is not their thing... I’m good with scraping up samples and putting them under a microscope. Yeah, fuck consent. I know. I’m a bad, bad girl. But I did it for science. “So... no ties to teammates or family. None at all?”

 

I get another scowl for my trouble before he starts into a weak laugh. “Did you miss the part where I murdered Nappa, my last unit member?” His laugh picks up in an alarming way when he makes a few gestures depicting Nappa’s last moments in this realm. My face must have shown disgust, because with one last look at me he throws his head back roaring, then suddenly stops. “No.”

 

So, I think he’s full of shit. Mammals are mammals, and there’s one thing we have in common: we care for each other. Specifically our young. Families must have happened. What, do you think a baby Saiyan is so strong it won't die out alone in the wild? Take a look at how much food they need to survive. Goku had his grandfather to help him as a babe, and I’m sure his appetite kept the old man busy enough. Also, Earth, I’m reasonably sure, is one of the most fertile planets around. Besides, like I said, we’re genetically almost identical. Saiyans cared for their young at some point. It's what mammals do. 

 

“So you never knew your parents? Or what, they didn't stay in touch? How does that even work?”

 

"I am a Prince. My father was the King. Everybody knew who he was. But we were bred in gestation chambers. What does any of that have to do with becoming a Super Saiyan?"

 

My pleasant expression slips, but I cannot help it. "Super Saiyan is an emotional response. There should be a way to unlock it by finding the right triggers. The strongest triggers  humans have are related to family, and protecting one's family..." It was such an elegant theory. We all know the story of the mother cat that will fight a pack of dogs to protect her young. Would it not make perfect sense that such a transformation would be linked to protecting your own for Saiyans as well? But with Vegeta’s input, I admit the chances for my first and favourite theory are looking slim right now, and I’m very, very disappointed. "So... no other Saiyans knew their parents?”

 

"If they did they never talked about them, or at least not to me." He rolls his shoulders dismissively, answering a little too lightly. 

 

I tap my finger on the table. There's more here, but I can sense we are reaching a limit to his patience. Perhaps I should simply move on to theory number two. 

 

“...except for Raditz,” he continues.

 

“What?”

 

It's so odd for him to offer information willingly like this that I am caught off guard. Apparently, so is Vegeta. His statement is not connected with any positive mood changes though. After a restless fidget, he balls his fists and starts to pace. “Raditz talked about his old man a lot. But he doesn't count.”

 

_ Raditz. _ He was the one that came looking for his brother, for Goku. That trip must have taken him months, if not years. This does not sound like something a man who did not care about his family would do. And, whatever the reason, Vegeta kept tabs on him to the point that he found out right away when he died. “Why doesn’t he count?”

 

Something changes in the air. I think I can actually see his ki, and my papers start to flutter. “Because he was fucking weak. _ And fucking crazy. _ ”

 

Ok. I think this is as far as I want to test the waters. I don't want my head blown off, so I agree. “You're right. He doesn't matter.”

 

The lie placates him enough for my papers to still, and he vigorously nods his head. He’s right about one thing though: Goku’s brother seemed totally unhinged. But then, Vegeta seemed pretty off his rocker to me as well. And Nappa? That big guy? I’m kind of glad he’s dead, sorry. Total maniac. I wonder why Raditz was supposedly worse. 

 

I’ll put my first theory on ice for now though, and move on to number two. It will suit my needs better anyway. “Then it’s got to be a sudden spike of anger.” 

 

“No.” 

 

No? Now he’s just insulting me. But I breathe in, and try for reason. He was on the verge of losing it just a moment ago, and although I might want to test his temper, I do not need him to break my fragile neck. “Gohan and I discussed this at length. Goku was having a great time, until Frieza killed you. Then he completely lost it when Krillin was killed. It’s obvious that—”

 

"The half-breed brat can’t understand." His temper is still there, thinly veiled behind large gestures. "If anger was the trigger, I would have achieved that form as a child!"

 

Don't you dare insult Gohan! Seriously, he’s the only mature Saiyan in existence, between your drama and Goku’s complete lack of responsibility. Poor kid. So smart and talented. I wouldn’t mind having a kid like that myself, but I'm more of a career girl. I’m in love with science. 

 

Once more, I bite down on my words. Vegeta is upset enough as it is, and I’d hate for him have a little melt down and revert to his old ways, especially when I am within arms reach. “I didn't say it was anger,  _ per se _ . Goku described it as something breaking. So, I’d say you have to go from being happy to extremely angry very quickly.” 

 

"That's it? You're a genius and all you can come up with is 'getting really pissed off? Some genius! I'm pissed off RIGHT NOW and I'm not transforming!"

 

“You are focusing on the end product and not the method. Goku is usually very laid back and happy. If you were to relax first, like he does, and then—”

 

"Kakarot is a feeble minded IDIOT who has betrayed his heritage!" Vegeta’s temper and ki flare, and the Prince of Saiyans loses his control. For a moment, I think he will end me. Then his first crashes through my hardwood table. Notes and wood chips scatter; I am lucky not to be hit, because I didn't even have time to turn my head. "Do not compare him to me!"

 

Damn. Guess that was pushing too hard. Lucky for me, the cavalry arrives in the form of my mother. Perhaps I should have warned her earlier. But as usual, my good old mother knew something was up and was prepared. She prances in with her trademark clueless expression, and sometimes I wonder if she’s fooling anyone. The sputtering nightmare in front of me seems to fall for it though.

Mom puts her one free hand to her face, the other laden with a tray of meat-buns. "Oh my. Did that old table finally give up the ghost? I knew I should have had it replaced sooner. Anyone care to try my new recipe?"

 

Vegeta rounds on her, teeth bared. For a moment I fear that I am going to make my father a widower, but when he does a double take upon seeing the remains of the table, I breathe a sigh of relief. He takes a deliberate whiff, grabs three of the buns, and perches on the couch armrest. 

 

He’s on his third bite before I realise he’s distracting himself, frowning down at the buns. He’s not an idiot; not like Goku. I’d have been dead if he’d made up his mind to kill me, but he knows that would not be beneficial. That temper of his is a problem, but at least he was willing to take the out my mother provided.

 

I give him some time to compose himself, and when he finally speaks around a last mouthful of meat bun, I cannot help but smile. "You'd better have something else to suggest, woman."

 

My grin grows, because I know I’ve already won. "I’ve given you two options. There’s only two areas where Goku can beat you hands down: friends, and relaxing. Which do you suggest trying?"

 

He stops chewing for a moment, one eyelid twitches as he sideeyes me. He thinks it's a trap. In some ways, perhaps it is. When he sighs, resigned, my heart crows victory. “Don't worry,”I assure him, “I am an expert in relaxing.”

  
  



	24. ride

“Raditz, report. You need to put out more fire.” Vegeta swore both at the static that answered him, and the blast from a laser hitting just above his hiding place. He changed channels. “Nappa, can you hear me?” More static, hardly discernible from the racket around him. But he could see the damn brute at the far side of the city’s leftovers, flying through the flames like a maniac. “Can anyone hear me?” Seriously, what the fuck? 

 

Nappa had emerged from the little incident with the worms stronger than ever. Stronger even than Vegeta, to the Prince's ire. Zenkai, some had whispered, awestruck. Regardless of his strength, he remained a useless brute. Without constant supervision and orders, he was just a disruptive influence on the battle, attacking positions of little strategic relevance and getting side-tracked by anything moving.

 

Vegeta cursed once more, and seriously considered making a beeline for Nappa and hope for the best. He was dissuaded from the idea when a magma ball the size of his head destroyed what was left of the overhanging wall above him. The teen ducked and shielded his face from the shrapnel. Vegeta might be powerful for a Saiyan of fourteen, but that didn't mean he couldn't get hurt. After he weighed his options, he ducked and rolled away to a better shielded location, hoping to at least confuse the enemy on his position.

 

Which was, of course, pointless with his current shadow not even bothering to keep his head down as it followed. The tall alien shook its braid at him and indicated the faulty scouter on Vegeta’s head with a sneer. “More shoddy equipment. I suppose you forgot to check this scouter too, little Prince?”

 

Oh yes, of course this was  _ all his own fault  _ as well. Like both moons mysteriously getting destroyed before landing, or the fact that the enemy had obviously been notified in advance about their arrival. Vegeta snarled as he slipped between two demolished walls, then turned to confront Zarbon. “I don’t suppose you’ll trade me for a  _ working  _ scouter?”

 

The long-braided elite shrugged, arms wide and head thrown  slightly to the side as he leered down; a beacon for the whole enemy army, from their heavy tank unit to heir hidden snipers, to see and point their weapons at. “I’m here to observe, not intervene.”

 

Of course, Zarbon didn't have to worry about getting injured by this level of firepower. But this  _ overseeing that  _ the elite was doing made it near impossible for Vegeta to get anything done. Frustration found its way to his tongue. “Fuck you too, pansy. Don't you ever get bored? Or maybe babysitting was just the job you dreamt of.” 

 

Bullseye. The blank mask slipped to show a hint of the annoyance Zarbon must feel and probably had for a long time now. Oh; how rich. The creature didn't want to be here either. For all its tall tales spun in front of Frieza’s court, which Zarbon obviously did enjoy telling, the conceited long-braided fool didn't take any pleasure in actually  _ being there to record it _ . That’s right— Zarbon was  _ bored _ . Vegeta had hit the mark, and he had a good laugh for it. “All that talent, all that skill, but at the end of the day you’re just my little bodyguard to get me when I finally fuck it up, right Zarbon?”

 

The slender giant tisked, whipped his braid over a shoulder, and dodged a laser beam that would have done only cosmetic damage in one fluid motion. “I wouldn't be too sure I’d lend a hand even then.”

 

_ Oh, wouldn't you..?  _ Vegeta sucked a breath, only now realising the meaning, the point of a babysitter. Zarbon wasn't there to record their failure. Or, perhaps he was, but that was hardly the main reason. The thought hit Vegeta, and it was an epiphany. “Zarbon, has a Saiyan ever died of space-worms?”

 

Zarbon gave him a puzzled look, but Vegeta was willing to test his theory with his life now, he was so sure. The prince straightened up; his eyes glued to Zarbon and scanned his reactions as he ignored the whistling bullets around him, recounting  “On our first mission, I was the only one that had enough fuel and provisions to make it back home alive.” Vegeta stood, quietly, and waited for it while a trickle of sweat ran slowly down his back. Zarbon looked away, unnerved. 

 

Vegeta pushed on, feeling more sure. “The second mission was a mess, but not really dangerous. The space worms... really sick, but I guess the only one in any mortal danger was Nappa. This place, this mission. Actual danger. But that’s ok, because you’re here with me, aye Zarbon?”

 

Zarbon snarled at him and then moved, one long arm swooped down. The mighty fist impacted mere inches from Vegeta’s face, against a projectile which ricocheted to their far left leaving a shuddering explosion. A rain of shrapnel followed in a moment of relative silence as it rolled off the two soldiers’ ki-shields.

 

Yes, that missile had been about to bury itself into Vegeta face. Yes, that might have killed him. Yes, Zarbon had  _ protected _ him. “You  _ are  _ my baby-sitter.”

 

And Vegeta recognised it now, the annoyance, the little twitch of the elite’s eye. The young Saiyan had hit paydirt. Yet of course, the large alien denied it all. “I’m just here to have a good story to tell at the local comedy club. And I’d bet it’d be even funnier if the punchline is a dead Prince of Saiyans.”

 

“Right, well, in that case give my regards to Frieza. I’m going to hell  _ first _ .” With a nervous grin Vegeta tossed his faulty scouter at Zarbon's feet. “Also, this junk is straight from dispense and brand new.” Next he turned and jumped to the air, heading straight to the location he’d last seen Nappa. There was a curse, and another explosion. Vegeta didn’t look back at his new meat-shield, he just laughed boisterously.  

 

Maybe he was _ not _ going to die today. Maybe he could even keep his team alive. Although Nappa seemed to have gotten distracted once again and was nowhere to be found. Still, Vegeta saw one of his men under fire, and he dipped down to find Lekus. Not his first choice, but the elder would do.

 

“Try and keep up, babysitter.” he called out, then swooped down full throttle with little regard for his own safety. It was liberating. Vegeta could get used to this, especially the crescendo of curses that followed his every movement.

 

“Lekus,” he called out as soon as his boots touched soil. “I’ll be needing your scouter.”

The old man almost stood up straight, but crouched again quickly at the next near-miss. Vegeta sighed, sadly his immunity would not extend to the rest of his team. He walked over calmly to join Lekus where he hid. “Give it here, Lekus.”

 

“Damn, Prince. You know I’m fucked without my scouter right? Won't know what to do, where to go, where everyone is.”

“Right now, no one knows what to do. Give it here.” Vegeta held out one hand; he needed it more.

 

Lekus clicked his tongue, eyes running from his commander to the elite two steps behind him. After a moment he sighed, unfastened his red scouter, and offered it up. “Don’t say I didn't tell you so.”

 

With a grunt, Vegeta fastened the scouter on. When the earpiece to his ear, he finally heard the cacophony of voices, his whole team, panicking. Like he knew they would be. No matter, Vegeta could still fix it. “Shut the fuck up, losers,” he yelled over the noise, and cut  them off completely. 

 

After a moment, Nion answered, obvious relief flooding his voice. “Prince! Why are you on Lekus’s channel?”

 

_ Because we got fucked. Again. _ “Listen up, here’s the plan.” Vegeta just rolled over Nion's question, because none of that mattered. After he pulled  up their positions, Vegeta quickly formed a plan. “I’m going to draw the tank’s fire. Nappa, get your ass back here, you’re attacking from the north to take them from the tail end.

 

“Nion, you take Papple and Jack and flank from the East, Twins, pick Raditz out of that pincer position he’s got himself locked in and follow him for a west flanker from the ground. We’ll surround them.”

 

When no one responded, Vegeta though they were already on it. All except Nappa, of course. “But that’s like a military operation. Working together.”

 

Vegeta did understand Nappa’s hesitance: It was not the warrior way. Warriors fought on their own, by themselves. “Well, today, we’re working together. If you don’t, then, if any of you by chance remain alive, I’ll kill you myself.”  

 

It took a moment, but Raditz picked up the slack. “I for one am not embarrassed to be saved right now. I’m seriously locked down here.”

 

“That’s right, boys. We’re gonna do this the old-fashioned way. Come, follow your elder.” Nion cackled, and Vegeta was a little surprised to get his vote of confidence. “Your Prince knows best.”

 

_ Good. _ Vegeta didn't understand what was so ‘old-fashioned’ about fighting in formation, but that was what they were going to do. Working as a team was something usually reserved for weakling enemies, true. But he for one was willing to resort to such tactics if it meant living to fight another day. Vegeta rose clear into the unprotected air, and taunted once more at his shadow. “Stay closer this time, baby-sitter. Or I might get killed.”

 

Nappa still continued to grumble.. “Coordinated effort. We’re like fucking Ginyu. Only worse at dancing.”

 

Vegeta did see Nappa move into position, so he let it slide and concentrated on drawing enemy fire while his elite one-man team took care of the incoming missiles. “Just destroy the bloody tanks, dumb-ass! You don't even have to do formation.”  dowm on the battlefield through the smoke, Vegeta noticed the twins had hopelessly veered off course. “Fucking twins, get your act together! You’d think at least the two of you could stick together.” 

 

“There’s a reason Saiyans don't do formation,” one of them answered, and Vegeta used the channel number to identify this one as Coli. He still couldn’t tell their voices apart.  

 

“Just get to Raditz,” Vegeta commanded.

 

It took a while, but between Vegeta barking orders and Zarbon destroying most of the projectiles aimed at him, the Saiyans managed to turn the battle to their favour. Vegeta finally returned to the ground; his ears still rang from the explosions he’d been too close to for comfort since mid-day. He dimly noticed Raditz bleeding badly, and everyone else was covered in mud that ran through with copper streaks. The salvos overhead had stuttered out and his Saiyans limped across the battlefield, slaughtering the last stragglers in the evening light. Victory at last, long overdue.

 

High on an adrenaline rush that just barely masked his exhaustion, Vegeta laughed at Zarbon. “Guess you’re gonna be stuck with me for a little while longer, baby-sitter. Hope you’re not too bored yet.”

 

“Prince. It’s Lekus.” Raditz called over his scouter, to Vegeta's annoyance. The third-class was supposed to in deep space by now, half-way back to base to have that gut wound checked out asap. “I have his scouter, I know.”

 

“No, I mean he’s here at the pods. But he’s badly hurt.”


	25. 25- chill

Saiyan physiology, I have been assured by many doctors and questionable scientists, is the best there is. The way we bounce back from near-fatal injury is unique and I won't say it has not always been a source of pride and consolation.

 

And yet here I am, lamenting the fact that two weeks after waking up from my GR accident —with the most questionable scientist yet at my side— I am all but healed. Why? Well, first of all, sitting still is a lot easier when it hurts to move. Because apparently, that’s part of what relaxing  _ is _ . Not moving. 

 

We’re in a new room again. Capsule Corp is full of them. I think this one is specifically meant for this thing I’ve promised to try: a relaxing room. Or something. Recreation? Whatever. 

 

There are two couches, another low table between us, and one of those big viewing slates fixed to the wall surrounded by pieces of canvas she calls art. The woman has taken one couch, stretched her legs out to the side and is leaning on her elbow as she flips through a remote’s menu. I concede to sitting down on the vacant couch. It’s a little low so I’m stuck with my feet planted apart as I stare at her with my arms crossed.

 

The second reason my recovery irks me: I can’t blame this lapse of judgement on an addled brain. What in fuck’s name made me to agree to this? Maybe I have suffered permanent brain-damage. I mean, that happens. Look at Nappa. It's kind of a nice thought. I could just, you know, go about and do whatever I want. ‘ _ Oh, don't mind him. He got knocked in the head too much. _ ’ Conduct unbefitting a prince? Can I eat that? No more responsibility for my actions… but then I’d just be a second Kakarot. And that’s just sad…

 

She looks up at me from her side of the low table and sighs, the lowers the remote. “Sit back, will you? Relax.”

 

I have to repress a snarl, because she was going to show me  _ how _ . Because apparently I don't, so... I mean what the fuck? Also _ , what the fuck, brain? _ I know I’m naturally distrustful. It’s served me well in the past, but ever since I’ve decided I can trust the woman... I’m going into hyper alert every time I’m around her. It’s so stupid, but it only appears to be getting worse. 

 

“I am relaxed,” I grind, and instinctively dig my nails into my biceps before shoving my back into the backrest. It’s not helping; now I have to tilt my head to my chest to keep looking at her. And I’m not about to look away from her, because that thing in the back of my head is screaming: danger, danger. Space-reality continuum anomaly. 

 

Oh yes; it is very hard to argue with that voice. This whole stay on Earth has been a trip to lala-land. And she’s right at the center of it all. That doesn't mean she forms, in any way, a danger to me. She’s weak; she’s harmless. Worry about the anomalies that are a danger, will you brain? Kakarot. The half-breed mystery-brat from the future. Cramps induced by late-night snack splurges. You know, real and actual dangers. 

 

“Ok,” she gives me a weird look, “so when I need to relax, I hang loose and go out with my friends.” She drops the control on the table between us and stands to stretch. “But I'm not sure you’re that comfortable with yours yet, so…”

 

Ok, let’s try and make things clear to the woman. “I don't have any friends.”

 

She smiles and saunters off to a corner, leaving with that throbbing tinge from behind as I follow her with my eyes. Why does she sway her hips like that? She’s not wearing those ridiculous high shoes this time. Maybe it's the dress. “And I’m not really sure they’re up for it either right now. You did beat the snot out of them, and they’re all out training hard.”

 

It is half-way relieving she was not talking about herself, but still,  “what friends are we talking about exactly?”

 

She is bent down over what turns out to be a mini-fridge, and I have to look away or I’m stuck scowling at her ass. The dress is not short by her definition, but definitely too short for this kind of antics. She stands, then tosses me a can, which I catch on intuition, and I turn back to give her my best death glare. She seems set on disturbing me further, because I just get a smile. “Anyway, I’ve got some basics right here. Dim the lights, light some incense, play  some relaxing music.”

 

“Music?” 

 

“Like, relaxing sounds?” She shrugs, opens her own can and, right on cue, we are surrounded by ambient sound. “Here, and try a beer.”

 

Damnit. Now she thinks I don't know what music is... Though how it’s supposed to relax anyone is beyond me. Beer is what I tried at the bar, though it was not put in a can like this.  When I open the lid, foam surprises me, and I sit up in an attempt to minimize the damage, cursing under my breath.

 

The woman flutters around me, placing an assortment of cans and bottles and packages on the table, closing the blinds. As she plays around with her controller, the music swells, some flute in tones so low and slow I doubt the musician himself will be awake at the end of the song.

 

As I look through the assortment on the table for something serviceable as a towel to get the sticky beer off my hands she dives behind me, takes the opportunity to grab and fluff a pillow and places it against the side-rest. Then she motions me to lean into it. The alarm bells in my head are still ringing, and it takes me a while to figure out what she is doing, because her acts are so alien to me. It finally clicks when I think of the blond ditz she is related to. Oh, this will not do. “Stop mothering me. Saiyans don't do family. I told you this.”

 

“You’ve told me a lot of things. I’m not convinced on most of them.” She walks to my side, picks up a bag, offering me “chips?”, and smiles that sickly smile at me. I can't help but think that’s unfair of her to say, because I have been nothing but honest with the woman from the start. I tell her as such.

 

She laughs at me outright. “You misunderstand. I don't think you’re lying. I just don't think any of it is true.” Then she plops down next to me, and I find I  _ do _ want to lean on that side-rest, just to get some distance. Rethinking the no-threat-to-me thing, seriously.

 

“How are you feeling now?” 

 

That’s it. I am not cut out for this. I should give it a fair chance, true. I do want to be a Super Saiyan. Yes, that badly. But I think a time-limit is in order.  _ Ten _ minutes. And if I’m not convinced, I am never, ever trying this again. All and everything we’re doing right now is going on my shit-list forever. Including the beer, just because of association. I blink at her. “Seriously freaked out.”

 

“Ahh.” At least she shifts away from me, rummaging through her wares. “Want to try a cigarette?”

 

It is probably the single most disgusting habit these earthlings have displayed to me yet. Both her father and she indulge in it, and I cannot imagine why. The trail of smoke, the ash and odor clinging to them all day. I curl my upper lip at her, and she gets the message. A weak laugh as she leans to the side. “Mind if I do?”

 

I should, but I can't be arsed to tell her. Nine minutes… nine more left. She lights up, then lowers herself down with a content sigh, crossing her legs and leaning on the back rest. “How d’you like the music?”

 

She seems to think me a liar, but I hardly ever do, unless I need to: “Sounds like a pair of geriatrics trying to fuck on top of a broken flute.” 

 

She barks a laugh. “Not your tastes.” She picks up her remote and taps away on it. “How’s this?”

 

The beat changes, picks up, and instruments are now accompanied by the screeching of a young female. “Now it sounds like the flute itself is fucking some bitch.”

 

She laughs, sits up with me as I discard the now-empty can to the side of the table. Goes about sorting her bottles with her cigarette perched on her lips. “How about wine. Do you know wine?”

 

“Oh yes.” If I was uncomfortable before, now I’m fuming. “I know. Pinon blue, Merlot’s pink. Frieza loved the stuff, went through three bottles in one sitting.” Then pretended to be completely smashed. Bastard. “They say the Cold Empire originally started because the Ice Planet only sustained the grapes for it around the equator and they needed more planting space. Oh, you can also cook with it.”

 

She gives me a perplexed look, so I elaborate. “Drown a fowl in it, then cook it? Of course, that takes away the alcohol, so you need to replace that before serving. Oh, and there’s wine veggies, wine pudding, wine ice cream.”

Her expression turns cynical. “Seriously, wine ice-cream?”

 

I cannot help my delight. “What? You humans don't have wine ice cream? Haute cuisine on Frieza’s ship.” And eating it felt as good as waterboarding. “Brain-freeze and killing your taste-buds in one go. Two for the price of one.”

She gives me another one of those sick smiles. “Wine’s off the list then. And I guess no smokables? Can I at least burn some incense? Or maybe inject you with some mild sedatives?” 

 

“Never letting you close enough for that again.” Eight minutes left and counting. 

 

“Hmm. Guess we’ll have to do this naturally. Might even be better. Hey, you into movies?” She takes the stinking stick from her mouth, gives it a long look and puts it out. Looks up expectantly, like I should be happy about it. Like it matters now. The whole room reeks of the stuff.

 

On the plus side, now I can at least cut her off before she decides I don't know what movies are. I’ve seen both instructional and promotional material. I’m not sure why they would relax anyone either. “Only when I want to get inspired to kill the creators.”

 

“Right, putting them on the back burner for now. So... you are into reading?”

She hands me a tablet slate with an expression like she’s being really clever. Doubt resurfaces, suggesting I do have something to worry about, but I quench it. Take the slate from her, and give it a look over.

 

“I have books on here. Fiction, history, science. There’s an internet browser. I have several interesting sites linked...” She tries to scoot closer and look at the slate with me, but I pull it close and turn it so only I can see. This is gold, and its setup is similar to a scouter. Easy enough to master. There is a lot more info here than accessible on the basic scourter database, though. I’m scrolling and searching and I find real and useful intel right away.

 

This internet is a truly beautiful thing. But, truly human as well. Information  _ sharing _ ? Nothing like the way the PTO hoarded its Information, accessible only from different databases close to Frieza himself. Needed data for your mission or task? Gather it up from the twelve different libraries and log rooms across the ship, and manually type in any data you need to take on the voyage. 

 

I grunt, lost in the appliance while the woman loses interest and starts messing with her mobile phone. Suits me well enough. Oh, the stuff up for grabs in this place! Knowledge is power, don't the earthlings know this? And besides, why give anything away when you can charge for it or dole it out as if a favour? She’s managed a look at my screen though, and takes in a breath. “What are you doing?” 

 

“Research. Getting to know people? Piccolo is the devil,” I deadpan, showing her the article. It seems a bit of an overstatement, but humans do like their dramas. Still useful. Piccolo: father, deceased. Strong points: can grow limbs back. Weaknesses: strong attacks take time and leave him stationary. But, even better: the brat. One of the articles suggest him training out in the desert with a child, and that could only be one. Though the article suggest it’s actually a mythical spirit-being. The sources on the article are shabby, flagged as nonsense sites. But I know better.This is such a good handle on him… I quickly move onto Kakarot next. There’s less on him for some reason though. Perhaps spotting a flying monkey doesn't stand out here as much as a green lizard-thing in a turban.

 

Bulma sighs, laying down her phone and stretching her back as she sits up. “That is not what I meant with getting to know people.” Then she sits back, breathing out long. “I know. Tell me a story,” and then she puts her hand right on my leg. 

 

I freeze, because the prickling is back, and perhaps I misunderstood my brain’s anomaly warning. “What are you doing?”

 

“Hmm?” She has the audacity to pat my leg, then finally pulls her hand away to lean it against the backrest. 

 

“This is stupid,” I realise, and besides I’ve already spent over my allotted ten minutes, right? I can leave now. But it’s worse; far worse. Because the smoke has cleared and I can smell her, and she’s so close it’s disgusting.

“Stupidest thing you’ve ever done?” She turns to me with a wicked twinkle in her eye. That near-black dress hugs the curves of her chest as she twists.

 

“No.” Although it’s close. Because she’s right here, and she’s an alien. A disgusting, inferior monster I should have purged a long time ago. Would have purged, if not for the daily meals and the perks of a warm place to sleep and training equipment. 

 

She leans her head on her hand, the one on the backrest. Pulls up a leg, focuses on me intently, still with that mischieves tone. “What was the stupidest then?” 

 

I bail, get up; move straight for the door. “Coming to this fucking planet.” And it’s true, because it gets worse every day. Worse in every way. There’s an alien bitch I just let within three feet of me. And I’m not disgusted with her.  

 

I’m not disgusted. 


	26. loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lekus is dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my betas over8000 and meganechan. as always, helping me do better.  
> @Dianafox thanks for screaming into the void for me. because it was staring to feel like quite a thing.  
> @Vint3r: good to know you were waiting.. i missed a week huh. but now I know, ill try and not do it again.

Lekus was dead.

 

They stood outside Frieza’s on-world throne room, the giant doors slammed on them after the shortest debriefing ever, and it just would not stick. His head throbbed with the attempt to find the logic in a timeline of completely unrelated events.

 

_ Lekus was dead.  _ What had just happened?

 

The Saiyans had returned a day late. Just a day, but one day should have been enough for another epic prose session detailing their failure. Not to mention that Vegeta had expected another public debasement, another one of Zarbon’s great tales. He had also expected Frieza to reiterate its proposal where the tyrant implied that Vegeta was not cut out for command. That he shouldn’t bother with any delusions about being self-reliant; he should just sit at Frieza’s side from now on and wait on the Icejin’s orders before he acted.

 

He had been ready to accept the offer.

 

But none of that occurred. Frieza had given Zarbon one warning to ‘keep it short’, then still cut him off after less than a minute, dismissing his elite with a: “so, the mission was a success. Great” Next, the Icejin turned to the Saiyans and addressed the whole group in another out of character act. ”You’re all on stand-by until further notice. Well done.”

 

It wasn’t _ fucking _ well done. Vegeta was infinitely aware of that; aware that he’d finally and irrevocably messed up. Frieza should have sensed that. The lizard should have been well aware that any advantage the Prince had gained last time could have been taken back with interest in that very moment. Yet Frieza had acted distracted and absent-minded. So, apparently, any game they had been playing was already over.

 

Why had Frieza lost interest? Vegeta was nearly sure he could have just ordered his squad to turn around and go back after one look at that planet and their defences. That he could have reported to Frieza the job was impossible and he needed to send the Ginyus or something, and he’d still have gotten the same glowing review. Hell, in its present state of mind, Vegeta could have taken the squad on an intergalactic pleasure-cruise and the tyrant would still have complimented him on a good job and sent them on their way.

 

It didn’t make sense. Frieza was nothing if not perfect: immaculate, obsessed with cleanliness and time-tables, and devoted to micromanagement. For the lizard to just drop his modus operandi was unsettling. And Lekus? Lekus was dead, and it didn't even seem to matter.

 

Nobody gave a fuck. Not Frieza, not his Saiyans... No one. Couldn't they see? Couldn’t  _ anyone _ see? Granted, Vegeta supposed he should not have expected the lizard emperor to care. But his own men, he had at least expected to be somewhat upset. Instead, they stood around outside the doors, clapping each other on the back in congratulations. An odd relief was expressed on their faces, any tension long gone. All his Saiyans, except for Raditz, who was still in the tanks because his wounds had worsened on the return trip despite cryo sleep. And Lekus...

 

Lekus was  _ fucking  _ dead, and Vegeta had just gotten  _ congratulated _ on a job well done.  

 

“A celebration is in order!” Jack roared, as coarse and boisterous as ever.

 

Nappa guffawed right back. “Let’s get shit-faced drunk!”

 

Even Nion, who believed himself to be the voice of reason, laughed. “Drinking is called for.” He paused, then looked the prince's way with uncertainty. “Will you toast with us? In memory of Lekus?”

Why were they  _ happy? _ Vegeta snarled, countering his own pounding head. “In Lekus’ memory? You fucks crazy?”

 

“My prince, please relax. We did well. We received a good review and some down time, finally. And he earned it for us, together with your outstanding tactics, of course. We should celebrate!”

 

Vegeta wasn’t really sure why that set him off. Nion was not smart enough for this level of sarcasm. Still, a ‘job well done’ was a bald-faced lie, and it lit the Prince’s face bring red as he screamed. “Fuck that dumb fuck for getting himself killed. And fuck you all!” 

 

With a punch to Nion’s gut, Vegeta shoved the elder out of the way then growled a warning at the others. They stepped back, cowed. Still, the Saiyan teen felt suffocated. Smothered, like he was drowning. Outside; that’s what he needed. With an angry tread he took the fastest way out one of the ornate balconies, then pushed off and flew up into the white clouds overhead. 

 

The air was frigid cold on his face, whipping in his ears so loud it hurt. But the cold, wet air calmed the rage and numbed his pounding head. After a little while, it felt good to just dive down and wind through the white-topped jagged peaks that covered most of the planet’s surface. Vegeta was not one to notice beauty, and he hated this planet too much to consider such a possibility. But the action was mildly entertaining, perhaps even enjoyable when done at a speed that made the curves a challenge.

 

When the novelty had worn off, Vegeta returned to the heights above the clouds, watching his long shadow in front of him in quiet contemplation. A prince should practice cold logic, even if his gut felt like it was on fire. Vegeta felt like that a lot lately, and he hoped it was an age thing. He was royalty, and only lower classes were supposed to be susceptible to bloodlust bad enough that they could not see past their own rage.

 

And looking at it now with a literal cooler head, he wondered why he had been angry at all. Vegeta had planned to downplay the loss. But he had been so sure he would have been called out on Lekus’ death, that when it did not happen it caught him off guard. In fact, Vegeta though he would have preferred it if someone  _ had _ blamed him. It would have made it easier to brush off. 

 

Yes; brushing it off had been what he had intended to do. Act casually. Drinking with the men would have been perfect for that. It's what commanders did. Probably. He’d just been blindsided by these fool reactions. And Frieza’s. Which worried him to his core.. But. No, he should have accepted the offer to go drinking. 

 

It would not do to turn around and find his squad though. If Vegeta showed up now, someone might think he was apologizing for his earlier behavior. But he couldn’t keep flying like this indefinitely either. At the rate he was burning through his ki, even a Saiyan could not keep the cold at bay for much longer. The small sun was already half-hidden behind the jagged peaks, so it would be dark soon and colder still. Besides, he had worked up quite an appetite. After getting his bearings, Vegeta grudgingly opted to go back to Frieza’s ship and get a filling meal.

 

On return, he checked the med-bay first to find Raditz still immersed in healing liquids. At least the third-class was going to live. Not that he cared; at least not enough to have his mood lifted. Vegeta trekked to the mess hall next, thankful that most staff had disembarked. He was in no mood to talk to anyone.

 

Sadly, there was still a short line at the feeding station. Five men out of the six in the room stood waiting, and the line did not move. At all. After a minute, Vegeta shoved past the waiting men until he found the culprit: a tall, thin green alien that moved slowly and deliberately, collecting his slob with agonizing slowness. Like an old man, although Vegeta doubted the creature could be much older than himself. Vegeta growled at him, but when the man turned, recognition fluttered inside the Saiyan’s mind.

 

The feeling, it turned out, was mutual. The creature froze, and the closer Vegeta studied it, the more disgusted he felt. It was too thin and had grown up weak. Then the man started to shake as well. This was not an unusual reaction to the Prince of Saiyans from a civilian but for a soldier… it was just odd. 

 

“Don't I know you?” Vegeta pondered. 

 

The green man’s face contorted, either in rage or fear. Or both. “You...” it hissed. Then it seemed to lock up and as it looked down at its ugly, crooked fingers. 

 

What a mess of a man. How could Frieza allow something like that to work for it? Vegeta mused, and yet. He knew this creature… well, it didn't really matter. Food, now that was important.

 

“What the hell is the hold up?” he inquired. 

 

The look of shock that came over the man’s face sparked another memory. Of someone younger, a lot healthier looking, and... Yes, this was the boy... The one that could... cook … right? Vegeta certainly didn't remember him being this ugly and crooked, or this weird in the head.

 

A purple face pushed the tall green thing to the side, and this one Vegeta definitely recognised: Cui. “Can't even remember his name, can you, Vegeta? This is Cordwell. You’ve caused him a lot of suffering, you know?”

 

If Cui had meant to talk for the gaunt thing, he met some opposition from the creature in question. The thing called Cordwell leaned over Cui’s shoulder, and pushed round fish-like eyes close to Vegeta’s face as it spat out: “It’s all your fault!”

 

Vegeta returned the challenge with another snarl. How dare he speak that way? Lekus... No.  _ And now this creep? _ No. he was  _ not _ responsible. “You might want to be more specific. You upset I didn't kill your mom before she had you or something?”

 

Cordwell made an attempt to climb over Cui, long limbs reached out and twisted fingers grabbed for the prince. “You put me up to it. Put us up to it.”

 

It foamed at the mouth now, and the spectacle was disgusting enough to make Vegeta rethink fighting the creature. Maybe he’d eradicate it from a distance, but he didn't want to catch whatever madness held the lanky alien. Its words made little sense, and despite any real belief that this thing was capable of intelligent conversation, Vegeta heard himself ask: “What?”

 

“We tried to run,” Cordwell panted, having made a path over and past Cui, who now tried to restrain him from behind. The squid didn’t have enough footing, and so the green mess inched closer to Vegeta. “You told us we’d die if we didn't. That we should take the pods. But we were caught.”

 

Confused, Vegeta fixed Cui with a questioning glare. But he was met with such a hostile look  that he had to ask: “What nonsense is this freak talking about, squid?”

 

Cui tisked at him, then violently wrestled the much larger alien back. “You gonna deny this now, monkey? Everyone knows your father was a traitor. But you had to go on and pull us down with you, didnt you?”

 

“What are you talking about?” Vegeta inquired, disgusted.

 

The foaming, sick thing accused with a voice that jumped another octave: “When your stupid old man got himself killed. You told us they’d come for us too. That we’d be killed. That we should run. But we only ever got the pods to lift off before we were retrieved. And we ran, so we were guilty. I’m... I’m all that’s left. We... we... we should never have listened to you. You killed them.”

 

That didn't make sense. Vegeta had not known about his father’s coupe until after it had happened. He’d not had the chance to tell anyone anything, with Frieza smacking him around. And even if he had... What the man claimed was impossible. No one could get a pod to take off without clearance. 

 

Nothing the boy said made any sense. None of whatever was supposed to have happened to those boys was his fault... and Lekus...? That wasn’t his fault either. Vegeta stared down at the tray in his hands, red pushing up and around his vision. The tray shook as his hands threatened to bend it, until found the perfect place to bury it: right in that lying green slime’s  _ lying _ face. The Saiyan didn’t pause before he socked Cui in his tentacled mouth. Vegeta turned again to charge a blast at Cordwell, but the thing was already swinging its own tray at Vegeta. It contacted with a smack to the side of his skull, but the Saiyan took it with a grin, just so he could fire off the ki he held.

 

It was not rage that overtook him, rather something empty and uncaring. Vegeta swung punches without even blocking, and when he felt Cui rain blows on his back he took the punches to his kidneys and spine as well. He was probably smiling, perhaps even laughing. Vegeta’s fists throbbed with every impact, and he clung to that feeling regardless of any other body parts screaming that he was taking actual damage. 

 

Vegeta didn’t give a fuck anymore, he just methodically punched the tall green creature to the beat of some alarm that had gone off and now blared across the mess hall. He turned to exchange fists with Cui again, only slightly hampered by the green beanstalk that now tried to restrain him. Vegeta swung out his elbows left and right, not even caring what he hit. This bought him a few seconds, which he used to turn his assault back to Cui, until something dropped on his head hard enough to daze him. 

 

It must have been Cordwell, dropping something hard on him. But it was impossible to tell, because his head was ringing. It didn't matter though. With a shake of the head, Vegeta waited for his vision to clear enough so he could pummel the first shape he made out. He’d drink it up, all of it, drink it up and spit it out tenfold. And it was working. Cui and Cordwell were so confused and rattled by Prince’s willingness to take anything they dished out that they guarded more than attacked.

 

With one last hard hook, Vegeta pushed Cui back far enough to make another one-eighty turn and lounge at Cordwell. But the creature had already backpedaled at least six paces and then dropped to his knees, eyes wide as he looked off to Vegeta’s left and cowered. It was not as the Saiyan had it pissing its pants though. 

 

“Dodoria.” It shuddered, like that monster was something worse than the Prince. Vegeta was less impressed. He just turned to face this new threat, and charged up another blast.

 

The pink brute reached out a large fist and engulfed Vegeta’s entire arm, blast and all. “Making trouble, little Prince? And while our master is getting ready for his guests no less? Bad timing.”

 

What guests? 

 

“Fuck you,” he raged and tried to pull his arm free, unwilling to extinguish the shot, even when he started to smell cooked flesh. That ki was intended for Dodoria’s face, to wipe that ugly smile off it. Vegeta bared his teeth.

 

Dodoria blinked, then smiled a toothy smile. “Oh yeah. I think you need a little time to cool off, don’t you?”

 

“Fuck. You.” It burned, and it occurred to Vegeta that his hand would sear off before he even pierced Dodoria’s thick skin. Logic. He was going to think, not act like some blood-raged… The ki went out.

 

“I’m guessing that’s Saiyan for yes.”

  
  



	27. ch 27 hobby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vegeta takes up a hobby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @dianavox love it when you scream at me!  
> special thanks for my awesome betas, sticking to me through it all  
> over8000 and meganechan  
> a day early? yup. because tomorrow looks pretty busy and I still haven figured out how to schedule

As the night wears on, a lone female of the species has succumbed to sleep in the safety of her natural burrow. Little does she realise the walls of her own creation will offer no protection tonight, for the predator on the prowl has already found its way within these corridors. A little drama is about to take place. A young life about to be snuffed out. 

 

Sleek and black as the night, the predator stalks her, moving from shadow to shadow. He moves so fluidly he does not even trigger Capsule Corp’s movement-sensitive lights, and the hallways remain dark and deceptively peaceful. Ki sparks suddenly and grows quickly into a ball, small yet deadly in its potency, as she only just stirs from her slumber. She never had a chance.

 

“Bang, you’re dead!” The ki cracks inches from her face. Her eyes flutter once, then open wide as she realises her impending doom. A loud screech, the ki-light snuffs out, replaced by the flickering of ceiling lights, and finally dead silence. She stares up at me with unseeing eyes from her spot against the wall where she had dozed off. Unmoving. 

 

I hold it together for a full five seconds before I burst into laughter. 

 

The sound finally pulls her from her stupor. “Jesus-fucking-christ Vegeta!” she manages, after a few panicked gulps of air.

 

I think she stopped breathing there for a while.  _ Hilarious. _ Not to mention the smell of fear on her is more than satisfactory. So she  _ does _ still scare, at least when I catch her off guard. 

 

She slowly pulls herself to her feet, visibly shaken, and her glare sets me into a fit of laughter that physically hurts. Cutting off with a wheeze, I restrain myself from holding my ribs. “Oh, the expression on your face right now, it’s simply priceless!” 

 

Bulma swallows, bends over once more with her hands on her knees, then straightens herself with effort. “I’m so happy you’ve found yourself a  _ hobby _ , Vegeta. Of course it would have to involve scaring people to death. Feeling better now?” 

 

Yes, actually. I do. Feels great. Anyway, she deserves it; she’s the one that started with the stalking. I caught her staking out my room; and even with her asleep sneaking by would have done little good; she’d have heard me close the door. Just yesterday, when I did and she woke to realise her mistake, she talked to my closed door for over an hour and kept me up, because I wouldn't let her in. My current mood soured, I harrump, and move for my escape. 

 

She cuts me off. “Oh right. Now I remember what I was here for. Hey, want to hang out tonight, catch a movie?” 

 

I blink at her. “It’s three a.m.?” I trained too late, got too little done. I set goals, but fell short and quit only when it became obvious I was too exhausted to do more. It took all of my energy just to take a shower, and all I want now is sleep. I’m too tired to even eat, let alone watch some silly make-believe film.

 

This is where she does the thing I really hate: she smiles. Not just any smile, but the fake one. Friendly, polite, helpful. I hate that smile. I also hate it that she knows just when to pounce, when I’m too tired to fight her manipulations. “I’d have hoped to start one a few hours ago for sure. But it’s okay. We have our own theatre down in the basement. I’ll let you pick a movie?”

 

She is so persistent. Guess I sort of asked for that, but... “If this is another attempt at relaxing me, just forget it.” Yes. I regret asking for help, but I can still rectify that mistake. Tell her _no_ to her face. It’s too stupid an idea to work, besides her presence will only be detrimental in the end. I know. I can tell. “Just go hang with your _loser_ friends instead. I’m not interested.”

 

I push her out of the way, make it to my door. But the word  _ no _ is apparently not in her vocabulary. She squeezes herself between me and the door once more before I can wrench it open. “Oh, come on Vegeta. They’re all out training. And I’ve waited on you so long everyone would be asleep by now anyway. You woke me up good, and besides,” she winks, “you want to be a Super Saiyan, right?”

 

I debate opening the door anyway, and just knocking it against her head. She’s asking for it with the way she jabs out her chin at me, arms behind her, thrusting out her chest. But the female breaks easily. I might kill her. Though it feels we might be heading that way regardless. How do I make her stop without killing her? “It’s late. I already showered. I just want to sleep.”

 

Yes, I was going to try her theory. But that was before... Before I realised. Can’t she see the warning signs? Perhaps she has no survival instincts at all, because none of those obvious markers of doom slow her down. Instead, she lets her eyes rove down my chest. It makes me glad I put on a shirt, but the self-conscious tingle in my spine already tells me it will do me little good. She’s found an offence, and my chances of getting any rest are lost. “Obviously. Did you even bother to change your bandages? And what? Is that blood? You’re bleeding through your shirt. Again. What you need is first-aid.”

 

_ I’m always bleeding. _ Which seems like a lousy argument, even to me. So I don't really fight her when she grabs my hand and pulls me away with a sigh, grumbling like I’m  _ making _ her do this. “Come on, let me fix you up. Again. There goes my movie night.”

 

She steers us to a guest room next to mine, set up with medical supplies. There’s even one of those flat table-beds instead of the soft ones humans prefer to sleep in. I half sit, half lean on it as she retrieves the right supplies, then take off my shirt in resignation. I didn't really think on this room enough, I realise now. She must have set up this place for my benefit, because no one else ever uses it. It’s annoying, she’s taking too much interest in me. Making too much of it. Still she clicks her tongue at me, like she’s the one that’s bothered. “Did you just pull off the old bandages?”

 

_ Yeah? _ “You wanted me to shower with them? How am I supposed to dry off?” I think I better not mention I did just that last time and then I tried to dry off with my ki. The heat then caused the bandages to shrink, and, well, that was just a mess. Not sure how such weak creatures as you humans even survived with this sad attempt at medicine. 

 

“Maybe warn me next time? I can get them off without pulling the crusts off.” She still makes that attempt at a stern voice, shakes her head. Who does she think she is anyway?  _ Oh, yeah. Let’s ask you to fuss over me. Like you need excuses for that. _ Does she have some kind of nurse fetish? That would explain why she can't leave me alone anymore. Then again, she could just be that bored. 

 

Training is apparently done far away from Capsule Corp. I’m not sure why, because the only useful place to do so should be the gravity room. Then again, perhaps the men of Earth know something I am only now becoming aware of. Something to do with this vixen, I imagine.

 

She starts swaddling my biceps in silence, but soon breaks it, any quiet obviously as alien to her as she to me. “Are you sure you’re training the right way?” I blink. It's like she read my mind, and she taps my busted ribs. “Strength training should be about micro tears. The ones that heal within days.” She taps a little to the side of my latest wound. “But this one is not yet healed, and now there’s a new bruise? You’re layering them, not giving your muscles time to heal. Are you sure this is how Saiyans get stronger?”

 

Uhm. I have no idea what this ‘micro’ stuff is. I know Zenkai: you nearly kill yourself, then get stronger. That is a little difficult to do with training, even with the added gravity. I think I’m doing a decent job... Okay, training is  _ not _ a thing I have much practice in. It was just not done by Frieza’s men, and I used to just run the front lines until I needed to be dragged off for healing, counting on the Zenkai power boost unique to Saiyans. But I’m not about to tell this nosy minx any of that. “Mind your own business.”

 

She keeps talking, a string of words that I tune out as I wonder if she’s going to release me soon. Why am I allowing this? I must be even more tired than I thought, because I can feel my eyelids droop. Maybe the woman has a sort of zenkai too. The harder I push her away, the more determined she becomes. So maybe if I just stop pushing, she’ll get tired of it? I know I am. Perhaps I can just pass out here. That wouldn’t be so bad. Just when I think I might, her voice lulling me to sleep, her touch makes me jump.

 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

 

She snorts at me over my shoulder, her breath brushes the back of my neck. “Relax.”

 

For fuck’s sake. “Can you  _ stop _ saying that  _ word _ ?”

 

She strokes her fingers over the sides of my neck again, all the way to my shoulders. “I’m just trying to smooth some of the tension out. What, am I hurting you?”

 

“Oh, please. Your weak little human fingers couldn’t possibly —ouch!” I regret running my mouth, twice over. Damn, why can’t she just leave me be? I guess when I stop pushing her back she’ll just overstep the next boundary. I take her hand away and twist to look over my shoulder at her. “Fucking cut it out.”

 

“What, the big bad Saiyan can’t handle a little massage?” She snorts again, that little twinkle back in her eye. 

 

“We are done here.” Why can't she see I’m trying? Trying not to... Fuck, at this point I’m practically  _ saving her life here _ . 

 

“What? You say you want to become Super Saiyan, but when you have to try anything new you just balk. A massage is a basic part of any athlete’s schedule. It’s relaxing, helps muscles recover, and I might mention that Goku loves them.” 

 

I move to stand and slam my hands on the table-bed, only just restraining myself from smashing it to pieces. “Don’t compare me to that third-rate—”

 

“Why not? He’s got what you want, right? It only makes sense to look for what you’re doing different. Or, what? You’re scared of little old me touching you?” She’s taunting, daring me. Seriously, if my hand slips at this point I think I can make a case for her having committed suicide.

 

Breathe. I pull my fingers out of the table, deep indents in the metal. I weigh my options. Kill her, and run before Kakarot comes to exact revenge? That would be cowardly. Leave, altogether, without killing her? Still cowardly. Explain to her… 

 

How  _ should _ I explain? Of course, I’m not scared of her. Well, not scared of her as a person; just this, this thing she keeps doing. This will end badly. It always ends badly. Someone will get hurt. Someone will end up dead. I go for the short version. “I am going to kill you.”

 

I cringe as she laughs, a tinkle of unworried silver. “How’s this then? I’m going to give you a proper massage, fifteen minutes tops. And if you don’t feel good after, you can kill me.”

 

I scoff at her. Seems she’s set on ending up dead either way. Well, I tried. At least I tried. 

  
  



	28. Front

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always thank you to my betas over8000 and meganechan!  
> DianaeFox did a real nice parody song for the last chapter! go check it out (can I link in here?) https://archiveofourown.org/works/17534462
> 
> NesTop1980 thanks for the kind words!
> 
> Vint3r now that I look at it this is hardly longer.. but I know some longer ones are coming. sorry about that!

Vegeta had managed to get only a few winks of sleep before his senses derailed any further attempts. Much as he prided himself on being able to sleep anywhere at any time, this was not true for the dark little jail cell Dodoria had left him in.

 

Climate control was completely out of whack, leaving the place as cold as the planet outside. The air had an odd humidity to it, and Vegeta could have sworn he’d heard a rat scuttling about. None of it made sense, because Vegeta knew that everything on Frieza’s ship was completely controlled and clean. In fact, Vegeta would have sworn he had been taken off-ship if he had not been completely aware when Dodoria had escorted him here.

 

No, he was still on Frieza’s ship. He was just in a part he had never been, despite wandering and exploring the place since he was a boy. Some weird part of the ship that set all his internal alarms blaring. The walls were freezing cold and Vegeta had enough bruises not to be able to get comfortable on any hard surface, so he got to his feet and started to pace the short length and gave up on ever getting any rest while in here. He didn't really get why —except for the fact it existed — the cell had him so riled up, but there was just something wrong. Something… something about the smell. Yes, the usual disinfectants and detergents, but stronger; as if hiding something underneath.

 

Angry, the Prince shook his head then wiped at the clot of blood the act freed from his nose. He knew he looked a mess: dried blood on his temple and chin. He’d torn one glove, and both of them smelled of the purple and green blood that had mixed on the knuckles. At least his bodysuit and armor had survived most of the damage; only one shoulder guard torn from where someone had shot a ki blast at him that he’d never noticed. His head, however, was pounding.

 

It was the kind of skull-piercing pain that could not have been inflicted from the few blows he had taken. Yes, he hadn’t been all there, but this felt like a major concussion. He should have noticed if he’d taken such a hard hit. Right? No, Vegeta blamed the pain on the smell. The smell that wasn’t really there. But it was. Damn. What was hidden underneath those detergents? Well, he had nothing to do, so he ignored the pounding in his head, and concentrated on identifying the scent best he could. He almost had it. Almost, but there were just too many perfumes covering it up. When the door finally squeaked open, Vegeta was glad he could give up on his quest. It only worsened his headache.

Raditz grinned down at him from the doorway, no fucks given to his Prince’s disheveled appearance. In contrast, Raditz looked completely clean and hale for once. Good for him. Also, somehow the older boy had grown another inch while in the tanks. Less good. With a growl, Vegeta pushed past the boy without a word. The third-class was all healed up, good as new, so why even bother asking.

As soon as he saw the hallway, however, Vegeta faltered. A long corridor of doors disappeared into the dark. All those cells, and the Prince had never even known about them. He swallowed. What could be down there? He should explore, find out. But at the same time, Vegeta feared what he might find. 

 

Raditz cleared his throat. “Seems we need to pick up the men too. Came home to the ship pissed drunk and made a mess down at the docks, apparently. And his lordship’s really uptight about everyone staying on best behavior right now, so...  odd, right?” Raditz laughed, gave the dark corridor a worried look as well, then turned towards the exit. “They’re at the first door.”

 

Somehow, that was a relief, and Vegeta followed Raditz towards the light without another thought. Raditz must have also felt that oppressive atmosphere, because he was unusually talkative. “I need to thank you for getting me out of that mission alive, sir. You really were amazing. I thought we were all going to die— it’s this door here.“ Raditz started to thumb through some old-fashioned keys he’d apparently been lent, another anomaly on Frieza’s ship. It was like they’d given an entire wing to an interior designer with a medieval obsession and forgot about it.

 

Vegeta just grunted, annoyed at Raditz words. He’d lost a man, and that seemed like failure to him. Also, apparently Frieza had tired of their game, and he didn't even want to consider what that meant. If the tyrant had tired of him, the Prince supposed it was possible Frieza would just send him home, let him rule his planet. But that didn't really fit the tyrant's modus operandi. Vegeta didn’t want to say it out loud, but he feared for his life. 

“Say, since we’ve got some time off, do you think I can get permission to go back to Vegeta-sei?” Raditz still tried to make small talk. Vegeta wondered if the other teen was even aware of the dangers that hung over their heads. “Got a little brother now, I hear. I’d like to meet him. Since he’s so weak, he’ll likely be sent off world soon.  He'd never survive in the nursery grounds with a power level as low as his; I hear that kids kill each other over prey nowadays . So I guess that’s good. But…” Raditz smiled, stalling before opening the door.

 

Something angry twisted in Vegeta’s gut. He had a little brother too, but he certainly wouldn’t ask for a trip for such a trifling reason as to _ meet it _ . Not that there was much chance of such a request being honored anyway. “Yeah, whatever. Just don't expect me to ask for you.”

 

Raditz looked back, uncertainty fluttered across his features. “You know you did the best anyone could, right? As for the rest... Why worry about what we cannot change, yeah?”

Vegeta growled, and Raditz shrugged. Perhaps he had meant to say more, but once the lock clicked, someone yanked the door and threw it open. 

 

“Finally!” Jack, the big and muscular first class, came out of the cell first, bristling with energy as he bounced on his toes. “By the Red Sun it is  _ good _ to be  _ out _ of there. Near as cramped as a bloody Pod!” The man took one look at the exit and started towards it. The other Saiyans followed single file, looking as worse for wear as Vegeta felt; all bruises, busted armor and dirt.

Nappa brought up the rear still yawning. He paused at the doorway and ruffled his blood-caked mohawk hair as he grinned slowly. “Fuck, Boss. If you was gonna get arrested, you really should have come and partied with us. It was so worth it. What a brawl!”

Raditz still stared at Vegeta intently. “Tell you what, sir. I don't really want to go home that badly. Why don't we have our own little party here.”

 

Before Vegeta could tell him to fuck off, Nappa threw an all too familiar arm around the prince’s shoulder, then grabbed Raditz with the other as he grinned widely; Nappa’s new-found brute strength gave him unfounded amounts of self-worth, and Vegeta didn’t have the willpower to fight him right now. “That’s a great idea. We’ll have our own little Lunar Festival right here, okay boss? Fuck ‘em all, we’ll have a great time.”

 

Vegeta was going to tell the fool off. He really was, but then Nappa’s words sunk in. “Lunar Festival?” A _ lready? _

 

“Yeah!” Nappa laughed. “Already been told yesterday, we’re not allowed to go. Well, that’s where the brawl started really. But fuck ‘em, right? We’ll have a party right on this planet. Bet we can party so hard this lil ice-cube will heat right up! You’ll see. It’ll be just like home.”

 

That did have a certain appeal, and Vegeta could definitely do with a break. Not like he could do much about the things that worried him anyway. Vegeta grinned. Sometimes, Nappa really wasn’t that bad.


	29. Venison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my betas over8000 and meganechan!  
> christmas dinner with the gang!

For three consecutive days she ambushes me on my way to bed, and for three consecutive days I try out her massage. I’ll admit it feels good. Not just during, but after as well. As for any advantages in training, I’m less convinced. The following morning it is harder to pull myself out of bed, harder still to drag myself to the GR and bury myself in the intense gravity. When I take a break for meals I always catch myself procrastinating after taking my fill, like something buried deep within me thinks doing nothing is the _ best thing ever _ .

 

It could just be that nagging voice in the back of my head counting down the days. Telling me I’m running out of time, and if I have failed to achieve Super Saiyan when I’ve trained for over a year while Kakarot did it in little over a week... I never will. Yet thinking that way is counterproductive. So, I’m going to blame the woman and her crazy methods instead. 

 

Sadly, my giving in has not dampened her enthusiasm at all, and when I tell her ‘no’ on the fourth night, she argues at my door until early morning. I’m not sure what she’s trying to achieve; if I didn't know any better I’d think  _ she’s _ the one fighting for her birthright here. Her tenacity is annoying, stupid, and completely impervious to reason. It makes me sick with anger.

 

No; I’ve humored her long enough, and I’m definitely done being pushed around. Though in all honesty, I’m lost on how to fight something that I cannot... fight? I’m well aware that one good shove would kill her, and where would that leave me? On a spaceship with my tail between my legs, back to that familiar vacuum. And yet, not so long ago I would have counted any outcome with me alive at the end of the day a victory. It is strange but right now, I’m not sure I could stomach it.

 

In a last effort at decency, I return to my room in the cover of early morning light for my blanket and mattress and resolve to sleep in the GR instead. It gets a little chilly in the morning hours, but now I only need to leave for food and a shower. As for cleansing facilities, there are several scattered across the compound, and I can easily chose a different one if I sense her lurking about. I’ve taken to eating my meals with the family because, foodtime is sacred even with you humans, and so as a rule the bitch only starts nagging at me when she has cleared her plate.

 

It should not come as a surprise that the woman thinks up a different sort of trap the next week. I suspected something was up when those silly little trees started popping up all around the house. It seems as if every room is required to have one. Next, the contraptions were decorated with all sorts of junk and flashing lights. When I asked why, I was told that everyone does it, and it’s a tradition. You people must really hate pine trees to cut off their roots and dress them up as they slowly wither and die.

 

I can smell the trap the moment I walk into the kitchen; there are too many places set at the table, and the family is too well dressed. Again, the timing is perfect. In the millisecond it takes me to debate grabbing a plate before beating a hasty retreat, the mother has enveloped my arm. She steers me to a seat right next to the smelly little tree, because even the kitchen apparently needed one. At least there are no flashing lights on this one.

 

The mother explains. “Here’s your place right at the corner, Vegeta! Right next to my Bulma, you lucky devil!”

 

The ditzy thing sits opposite to me and serves me a plate filled with chunks of sweet smelling venison and more. The food is even more luxurious than usual. My mouth starts to water when she suggests I start early because I must be famished. She’s right, of course. And why should I retreat when such a meal is presented? No, I will not. The woman can go fuck herself. I do resolve to eat fast, and then go back to training. I’d like to avoid whatever the Briefs are getting their panties twisted in a bunch over, but this food here is mine. 

 

I’m only three bites in when  _ she _ sits down next to me, wearing a short little black dress despite the bad weather. Bulma plops down on her chair hard, boxing me in at the table. I’m sick of the stalking, and I cannot help but wonder if she somehow forgot what she is chasing after. For I know this is no mistake; no coincidence. I glare at her while I finish my plate.

 

My warning slides off of her like water, an uneven grin on her face as she leans an elbow on the table then pours me a glass of bubbly liquid. “Have some champagne, Vegeta! It’s time to celebrate.” She laughs at my confused frown, spills a few drops. I can smell the drink on her breath already, imbibed and fearless. How I  _ hate _ her.

 

I’m sick of it. Sick of her, and her games. I’ve been a good, courteous guest.. or as well as can be expected of me. I’ve bend to her wishes, but it seems the woman has decided to push harder every time. Seems like she’s wondering just how far she can push before I snap. Well, how about I push back a little? Just a little shove. I raise my left hand, I’m so tempted... Yet some instinct stops me, and I shove the glass back at her instead as I continue to eat. She scowls at me, no doubt with some nasty observation on her lips, but does not get beyond a frustrated sound. 

 

“Bulma!” It’s the bald little thing, the one that keeps dressing up like Kakarot, although the clown-suit he’s now in would probably even make that third-class blanch. The gnome comes walking right into  _ my kitchen. _ Or at least, hers. -No; I’m eating here. I have a claim. Comes walking in with a wide grin, smooths down its weird black suit, perhaps somewhat aware of how ridiculous it looks. “Merry Christmas. I’m afraid Goku and Gohan won’t be making it —training hard, I guess.”

 

“Oh, Goku is _ hiding _ is he? Can you imagine that, Vegeta? A  _ Saiyan _ , hiding?”

 

I stop mid-chew. What is she implying and why does she try to pull me into her inane banter with this hairless midget? I snarl; and the gnome at least has a working brain cell, because it yelps then jumps behind Bulma’s mother. 

 

The bald imp tries to cover its reaction with another laugh. “But I did bring someone desperate to get out of the house!” It grins too widely over Panchy’s shoulder as Kakarot’s banshee wife enters, all decked out like she’s part of a circus parade. 

 

I click my tongue for a moment at the odd exchange between Bulma, her mother and the woman. Somehow, all three end up apologising for the food, showing up, and generally existing. Why are these guests here, apart from annoying me? The gnome I can understand; he’s a decently proficient fighter for a human, but what is the purpose of bringing the witch? Insurance? Pathetic; I suppose killing this Chi-chi woman might cause me a headache in the form of her husband, but any more of one than if I just blasted Bulma? I’d think Kakarot would show up fast enough either way. Maybe annoyance, in and of itself,  _ is _ the goal. The banshee is loud and whiny enough for it.

 

“Yamcha's not coming either?” Kakarot’s wife turns in her seat at the far end towards Bulma with an air of sympathy, her ornate hairstyle swinging. Apparently the pair had hoped for even more guests at the table. But with the parents, Bulma, the midget, and the banshee, that’s five other people at the table and the cacophony drains my appetite. Seriously, I’ve eaten at larger gatherings, but usually those present knew to shut up as long as there was food in front of them. 

 

Next to me, the blue minx throws herself back in her chair with an uncaring shrug. “One of those cleansing journeys of his. He’s not answering any phone calls or messages, so I guess he’s busy too. Or maybe he’s _ running _ . I don't know; what do you think, Vegeta?”

 

I chew, then swallow. Pause, then take my next bite. Bulma keeps looking at me so I glare right back.  _ Running and hiding? _ Oh yes, I can hear her accusation. I’m so fucking sick of her games, her useless theories, and this entire planet. I’m just about ready to end her, consequences be damned. In the silence, the atmosphere cools, and the conversations stutter to a halt.

 

“Never mind, Bulma, who needs them anyway. Men, right?” It’s Kakarot’s wife, she seems a little too pleased about Scarface not showing. Then her face darkens. “My Goku is always like that. Disappearing. Not showing up when he promised. And all this while we all agreed this would be the last chance to celebrate Christmas together, because next year will be too close to the androids arriving. Fah. Men.”

 

Across from me, the midget laughs weakly “We’re  _ right here… _ ” He trails off and looks my way with a near-hopeful expression. 

 

Well, I don’t give a fuck, you gnome. I’m just here to take what I want, and get the fuck out. I’m not fucking _ hiding  _ or _ running _ . Screw you all. To illustrate my point, I shove my empty dish out of the way and pull an ornate plated bird towards me. I know it’s meant as a shared meal, but I dare anyone to say anything. They don't. No one would dare. Except Bulma, and she’s ignoring me now as she listens to the wife’s animated rant. 

 

I cannot help but listen in between mouthfuls. The banshee puts Kakarot down at every turn. I’m not sure how I feel about that. It’s kind of nice to hear someone hate on him for a change, and one cannot deny her spunk is entertaining. Yet I’m pretty sure mates are supposed to have your back, and it sounds like this woman would rather that Kakarot never fight again, but instead  work in a field like some common laborer. She mews about the only job fit for a Saiyan like it’s something bad. “It’s been awful, Bulma! Training, it’s all he talks about, all he does. Except for eating. He’s even pushing Gohan to fight, and I told him school is more important...” 

 

The midget coughs. “Aah, there is that thing where we all  _ die _ if we cannot beat the androids... ma’am.” The little thing seems to regret speaking up. He turns to Dr. Briefs at the far end, who seems wisely preoccupied by his meal. The monk swallows again, before turning my way. “How’s your training going, Vegeta? It’s got to be going better than mine, right?”

 

Training is the last thing I want to talk about. The last thing I want to _ think  _ about… I snarl, but the woman answers for me, touches my knee as she does, patting it. Her overstepping her bounds—in public, no less— shocks me into silence. I hear that misplaced conviction in her voice again.

 

“We’re getting somewhere, I know we are. It’s slow going, and frustrating. But we’re  _ getting there _ , mark my words.”

 

Oh yeah. We are definitely going somewhere: a highway to hell, that’s where. I turn a nasty smirk at them both. “Remind me why I should help you humans again? Killing the androids might be fun, but orbiting the planet and watching from space as you all get murdered might be even better…”

 

The smirk turns into a full leer as I turn from the midget to the woman. The only sound in the room now comes from Dr. Briefs cutting his meat as he continues his meal undisturbed. I can feel the accusational stares from the others. All except the mother, who keeps her happy expression blank and beyond any understanding.  _ Yes, how would that feel? _ I really  _ could _ run. I have no fucking honor anyway. No pride, no birthright. Screwing you all over would be worth it. Maybe. Surviving another failure might not be.

 

The midget laughs weakly again to cover up the uncomfortable silence. “There’s only sixteen months left, and not even Goku’s thinks he’s progressed enough to win. The mystery boy said we’d need to be much stronger than he was... We’re all going to die, aren’t we..?”

 

Sixteen months. That’s how much time is left? Fuck, _ that little time’s all that’s left? _ I swallow, I knew that. I had kept count somewhere in the back of my mind. But to hear it out loud... You’re all going to die in sixteen months, human. Oh, I know you’re not worried. Kakarot will save you all, but it doesn't really matter to me because by that time I need to be off planet either way. After the androids come, there is no longer any reason to stay. Actually, if I do not become Super Saiyan soon there never  _ was _ a good reason... Now that we’ve passed the halfway point this seems very likely indeed. I should run. I should hide. And yet the idea leaves a dirty taste in my mouth. Somehow, throwing myself at those androids even if it means certain death is more appealing.  

 

I could, theoretically. It’s a comforting thought, for what it’s worth. At least, it is to me. Fucking people over, turning tail at the first chance I could find has been my goal for so long. But once upon a time, I believed warriors didn't run... didn’t hide... and it’s not like I have much to live for. I could do that. I could, if I wanted. It’s my life, I can waste it any way I damn well please. 

 

Or, I could fuck you lot over, and abandon Earth at the last moment. I think I’ll leave it up in the air, keep this lot on their toes. The woman does get particularly weird at the thought of me getting hurt, after all. 

 

An uncomfortable silence has settled in, but I just keep smiling. _ Good. _ Finally things are as they should be, with _ them  _ uncomfortable and unsure and  _ me  _ fucking with them. Very good. I’ve gotten the initiative back. Turned the table on them, so to speak. Yes, very satisfying. 

 

“That reminds me, Vegeta.” Bulma casually places a hand on her chin to lean on as she turns my way a little unsteadily. “It might be a little early to start with the gifts, but this is for you. Merry Christmas.” She digs down her cleavage with her free hand, and with a triumphant sound fishes something out. I’m loathe to touch it, because I know where it came from. Yet she pushes the little thing towards me, held between her thumb and index finger, until I either take it or have it shoved in my eye.

 

It’s a capsule. A rather big one, I notice. Intrigued, I shake it.

 

“It’s your own spaceship. With GR, of course.”

 

I freeze and nearly drop the capsule in my hand. I cannot help but stand and bend over her with what I hope passes as a grin. “Oh? How  _ thoughtful _ . What made you think I’d need it?”

 

She blinks up at me lazily, then sits back so she can keep her eyes focused on me. “So you can, you know, _ dump us and run away _ without having to steal my shit.”

 

There is a collective intake of breath. Kakarot’s banshee is wide-eyed and frozen. The dwarf has hidden behind the father, who finally has abandoned his meal. Even the mother is shocked, hand over her mouth in a silent gesture. 

 

Only Bulma remains calm. She stares at me with one eyebrow raised, challenging me. Fuck her. Hey, you know what? Maybe I  _ won't  _ become a Super Saiyan. That doesn't mean I can’t raise havoc. I’m fucking death incarnate! So, hey. Maybe I should take her up on this? Yeah, it’s on. I’m going to ride this pony for all it’s worth. And then, when the time comes, I’ll disappear somewhere among the vast reaches of space. Don't you  _ dare _ think I have nowhere to go. I can go  _ anywhere _ .

 

“A heartwarming gesture.” I toss the capsule into the air, then catch it. Then, I start to squeeze. It groans, more loudly than such a small thing should, and makes loud pops that push back against my hand. Yet I push harder, further, balling my fist until it fizzles out. I toss the smoking ruin in my still-filled champagne glass. “I won't be needing it, though.” As I turn, I grab the nuisance of a woman under her armpits and hoist her up until she’s at eye-level. “Because I aim to take whatever’s yours when I feel like it.” 

 

With that, I lift her up higher and shove her butt onto the table so I can pass. Without deigning to acknowledge the rest, I leave, ready for some serious training. 

 

The Krill-thing laughs again. “Yeah, we’re all going to die.”

 

Oh, he’s right. He’s definitely right. But I won't be pushed around. I’d rather die. I’d rather  _ kill _ her. 


	30. roots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enter king Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my betas over8000 and meganechan.
> 
> also:: Warning! my awesome beta over8000 has UPDATED "you can break me but you can't take my pride." down at ff.net do you know how.. you totally need to read that. or, just go there after you're done here. because, honestly, you'll be in for a ride a while.
> 
> and thank you kimothyschma and BV4ever for taking the time and commenting!  
> so, as Vegeta was a bit of a bastard last time, we get another little look at where that's coming from today, ye?

 

 

-

“Come on, my boy, don't be shy.”

 

Of course, Vegeta was not. Not even here in this throne room full of unpleasant memories. Not even when Frieza used that worryingly familiar voice with him. It just didn’t sit well with him. It also did not sit well when he saw that second creature up there on the dias, that imposing figure next to the tyrant’s hover-throne. 

It had not sat right by him when he received the summons either, although somewhere in the back of his mind he had expected it after his unwanted break. A week on stand-by had turned to two weeks. Two weeks had turned into two months; Vegeta had grown so bored and so desperate for something to do, that following his team through the planet’s capital had become a nightly thing.

It had not been unpleasant at all. His Saiyans seemed dead-set on upstaging the entire Lunar festival that had to be in full swing at home by now. And apparently as long as any irregularities were kept away from the palace, and Frieza’s ship, no one gave a damn. It was up to Vegeta and Raditz to steer the group away from obvious trouble, and with Nappa as impromptu expert on fun, they had pretty decent time of it. 

During the first night Vegeta had been on his toes, sure something bad was bound to happen. But apparently all the PTO personnel on planet were fully occupied by ‘family matters’, which had meant little to the young Saiyan commander at the time. Although perhaps he should have asked more questions. 

Yes. The pair on the dias did resemble each other. They had the same horns on the sides of their heads, curved up at the end like they were meant to gore through someone. The same helmet head, that they both tilted to the side a little as they regarded Vegeta from their elevated position. The same dark-colored lips, same fake smile... That spelled trouble.

Why had he been called in? Perhaps word of the Saiyans’ nightly antics had finally reached the tyrant? It was true that Vegeta had thrown all caution aside and partied with abandon. It had felt good; what he imagined Saiyans were supposed to live like. The native police force knew better than to bother them, and on their nightly sojourns he had felt more like royalty than he ever remembered. For with Frieza and his elites occupied, the Saiyans had been Lords and Masters of the entire frigid planet.

Maybe Frieza had been too busy until now, and had taken offence after all? The tyrant didn’t look angry, but then, Vegeta had learned when that fake smile was up, he was just guessing at what emotion was hidden underneath. So it was possible the lizard was upset with him. The elder, larger creature at its side definitely had that look in his eye; contempt hidden behind a near identical fake smile that only just failed to reach his eyes. Like Vegeta was some disgusting slugfrog that had been foolish enough to croak its way into notice.

His Saiyans had been loud enough, Vegeta supposed. Especially last night. They had crowed their superiority, then wound up sparring each other in the streets as no creature was foolish  enough to take them up on their challenge. The citizens had learned, however, and had waited until the worst of the Saiyans’ bloodlust had passed. Then they offered food and drink, invited the Saiyans into their bars or around a warm fire to drink for free— as long as they didn’t break the place.

As the night progressed, and just as the previous nights, Saiyans with full bellies and pleasant smiles had become lost left and right. But last night, at their third bar or so - which had once again involved a lot of celebratory rounds in the memory of Lekus - Vegeta had lost himself as well. Perhaps it was lingering guilt that had forced his last restraints to the back of his mind and made him resolve to get dead drunk, but whatever came after became blanketed in a pleasant, unclear mist.

It should not have come as a surprise when he’d woken up on what was presumably the next morning to his scouter beeping with a short notice private summons. It was  _ the  _ worst timing, so  _ of course _ he’d be called on. Vegeta groggily picked himself up off the hardwood floor of some establishment he had never heard of and untangled himself from some alien female’s arm, which had inconceivably found its way across his shoulders - seriously, who and what was she?

After he rushed back to the ship at break-neck speed for decontamination, Vegeta raced to the palace to answer Frieza’s summons.. He did manage to reach the temporary throne room just in time, but in his haste to enter he only noticed after taking knee that Frieza was not alone. 

“Come up here, Vegeta. Meet my father.” The smaller lizard used that tone of voice again. It set off warning sirens in Vegeta’s pounding head, although the prince knew this would also be a good time to play for favour, a thin and dangerous line. When he’d managed to close the distance to the dias, a cold hand clapped down on his shoulder and Frieza presented him with obvious pride. “Prince Vegeta, the  _ promised  _ one. The Golden, the one his Saiyans have waited for; strongest in a thousand years. Isn’t he  _ cute _ ?”

“Hmmph.” The elder Icejin was obviously not impressed. Its fake smile twisted into a disdainful, angry glare that held quite a bit of potency “They tend to grow up, my son. And get stronger.”

“So they do. So they do. Vegeta, how old are you now?” Frieza was pleasant enough about it, so the Prince added the numbers as fast as he could without making a mistake. With all the travelling, he’d missed some months and hadn’t really kept up with the date either. “I’ll be fourteen next month.”

Frieza grinned, as if proving a point. “Fourteen. Remember? That’s the same age his father was he came to... ah... work with me, no?”

“Just about,” King Cold agreed. The larger Ice-jin stared down at Vegeta, once again. “He is smaller, true.” 

Vegeta bristled. “That doesn't matter. I’m  _ stronger. _ ”

King Cold offered him a grin. It promised nothing good. “You are right. It  _ doesn't  _ matter. Only strength matters. Va’halan?”

Shocked, Vegeta stared. “That’s Saiyan. You speak Saiyan.”

“Just a little. How would you respond?”

It was another test, he realised; another test to fail. Vegeta cursed. He’d not kept up over the years. Sometimes his team spoke Saiyan amongst themselves, but it was something frowned upon as it kept other personnel out of the loop. Vegeta scrunched up his nose. It was the traditional greeting. Though it meant  _ ‘are you still alive? _ ’ not ‘ _ greetings _ ’. “Ehh…” And the right answer to that was...  “Vaalh... weho?”

King Cold’s face twisted into a smirk and it cast its son a look of superiority. But Frieza mirrored that smirk.The lizards stared at each other, father and son locked in silent battle, completely leaving the Saiyan out of the loop. It was maddening, and Vegeta licked his lips in annoyance.  

He’d gotten it right, hadn’t he?  _ Vaalh weho. _ The strong survive...  _ Hadn’t he? _ “What does that matter anyway?”

“It  _ doesn't _ ,” King Cold agreed, without looking his way. “But it’s the correct answer.”

Frieza bared his teeth at his father, also unwilling to relinquish this odd battle of stares. “Got yourself an accent there though, Vegeta. Where did you pick that up? I think you’re getting  _ rusty _ .”

Vegeta grunted. Probably from the old man, Nion.. He liked his proverbs, but he spoke coarsely. Not really court material. Still, whatever the lizards wanted, he’d obviously appeased them both. Passed their little test, which was probably the best he could hope for. “Can I go now?”

“Not yet,” the older, overbearing Ice-jin snidely told him, finally glaring his way only for a moment. “I’m hardly convinced.”

_ Convinced of what? _ Vegeta wanted to roar, but he dared not. That contest of smirks between father and son had turned nasty, the pair stared into each other’s eyes with intense concentration. Vegeta knew better than to break into this match. He could practically feel the waves of ki ebb off the two powerhouses. Staying in their presence was dangerous, but he’d been specifically told not to leave. This was bad.

Vegeta fidgeted, wondering if perhaps they had forgotten about him, and if he should just slowly try to inch towards the door. But just as he’s managed a first shuffle, Frieza’s voice froze him, too sweet and too kindly. “Tell me, Vegeta. How are you faring with the squad I’ve gifted you?”

“Fine.” The question put him further on edge. It felt like his answer might seal their fate, or his own. He wasn’t sure what the pair wanted to hear, so he kept his tone even. “They do as they’re told.”

“A squad of Saiyans together, for such a long time now.” King Cold grinned. “I bet you’ve grown  _ fond _ of them.” 

_ Trap! _ Oh, Vegeta thought he understood now, whatever the monster was implying. “They are a useless bunch, really. But they make good cannon fodder.” He shrugged. “Could be worse, I guess.”

The tall creature’s eyes flashed, and Vegeta didn't miss Frieza’s triumphant grin. The young Saiyan breathed out and congratulated himself on recognising which of the two Ice-jin was the bigger threat.. Yet the creature pushed further. 

“What about your planet? Do you miss it?”

Now that he knew the correct way to answer, it was easy. “No.”

“But you do want to be King?”

Vegeta paused, looked back at Frieza. It smiled thinly at him but kept quiet. Ah. This was a hard one. It occurred to him that the pair were playing him, like some good galactic patroller/bad galactic patroller team. He weighed his anwer. He shouldn’t sound too eager. It would just give them leverage, but Frieza obviously wanted him to relinquish his claim. Perhaps that was what the pair had in mind for this meeting? Perhaps... “It is my duty to be king.” 

“Hn.” The hulking Ice-jin stepped closer, towered over Vegeta with its horned head, bent down and brought his face close. But apparently he could not find fault with Vegeta this way, because after a long moment the giant Ice-jin stood to fold its arms, then took a slow circle around the young Saiyan. It felt like the giant was willing him out of existence, and it took all Vegeta had to stand firm without showing how small that condescending glare made him feel. After what seemed like forever, the giant sighed. “Fine. you can keep one of the two. But not both.”

“Faaaa-ther!” Vegeta had never heard Frieza whine before. He spun towards the tyrant, unable to keep the fear from his eyes. What  _ other _ one? Surely, Frieza was not going to trade him in? And if so,  for whom? His little brother? Vegeta didn't know why that made him feel sick. Maybe he could go home now? No, no that didn't feel right.

Frieza smiled. “Don't worry yourself little Prince, you will  _ always _ be my favourite.” 


	31. in for the kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if its war she wants then she's come to the right person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zomg. a bi-weekly update? yeah, probably wont keep that up. anyway, thanks again 2 my betas, meganechan en over8000. the latter has btw updated his fic. its "You can break me but you cant take my pride". awesome, I know.
> 
> thanks 2 kimothyschma for saying hi. yeah; this one is creepy too in a way.. but yay I almost can not wait till I get to post the next piece.

“Please, no more. I can't bear it!”

 

Yes; I know I promised myself I’d never beg again after my second-ever attempt on Namek. It got me as much as it did the first time: shame and death. I’ll make an exception, just this once. We’re alone anyway, and if I’m going to play pretend I might as well go all the way. I’m nothing if not a good actor after all, and it’s working; the woman is doing her best to look unaffected, but failing. Her eyes are glued to the screen as she sits next to me, her mouth in a thin line as she tries to stop shaking.  

 

After those silly mid-winter celebrations had passed, things returned to normal at Capsule Corp. Or at least as close to normal as life here can get. Until the woman cornered me to offer another one of her massages, and I graciously accepted. Was she confused? A little perhaps, but she hid it well. When I also agreed to movies a few days later, she did do a double take. Poor thing. She does not yet know the rules of the game have changed.

 

I move it up a notch and throw my hand before my eyes for dramatic effect. After all, if we’re going to hell, I made up my mind to go all the way. I pull my legs up and then throw myself against the back of the couch, my knee brushing her thigh. “This cannot go on! Make it stop.”

 

It  _ shouldn’t _ got on, and yet only thing that is stopped is the film. The woman finally bursts into a fit of giggles that she tries to hide behind a hand. No fear. She is completely relaxed, and no one seems to care enough to set her straight. I smirk at her in victory, and it causes her to smooth her features. Then she mock-grumbles, playing with the remote as she stretches her legs out in front of her. “It’s just this one scene, Vegeta. They’ll go back to blasting each other soon.”

 

Silly girl. I suppose my tactics of trying to scare her off have backfired. All I’ve accomplished these past few months is give her is reason to believe that I may bark, but won’t bite. But she’s wrong. She’s so very wrong… Alas, nothing seems to be able to derail her collision-course with death, and I’m the freight train heading her way.

 

I take another look at the screen where the boy protagonist and some princess are holding hands, gazing in each other's eyes, frozen on screen. The scene had been stifling and uncomfortable, the acting so atrocious that both must have been aware of how ridiculous their promises to each other were. “Unless this Jar-Jar thing gets flayed and quartered in the next scene, I dont think it’s worth it.”

 

Bulma drops the remote, throws an arm over the backrest and turns to regard me. She pulls up one leg and folds the other beneath her. Looping her hands over the bent knee, she picks at the colored nails on her hands. “Alright, Vegeta. Another eastern action film?” Her voice sounds annoyed, but I’m pretty sure she’s just pretending.

 

“With the fake air-walking and kicking? I like the gist of them, but the stunts are so sad they are an affront to all warriors.”

 

A roll of the eyes, and her gaze flickers away momentarily to her hands, “Those stunts are as real as you're going to-” 

 

“And that beam? And the giant spider they were fighting?” I wave my hand. “Very well. I suppose we can do with another laugh. You humans might fail at everything. But a lively imagination... there you have all the races across the universe beat.”

 

Though in all honesty, I’m having a decent time. Even if it’s mostly by criticizing everything about this bizarre form of entertainment. Besides, I’m comfortable and have access to a number of snacks. I’m good where I am. I prop my head up with one hand and recline sideways, my elbow buried in the side rest. I pull up my legs and my toes end up under her calf, by pure  _ accident _ . 

 

For a moment I think she doesn’t even notice, doesn't register what has just happened. Though I expected her not to understand the full implications, I'd still have thought some form of survival instinct would warn her off. Would make her realise... But no; instead, she reaches down and pets my foot. “Aww gee, Vegeta. That’s nice of you. Thank you!”

 

I growl. It wasn’t a compliment and I'm not nice.  _ Saiyans _ are not nice. Except Kakarot. He’s way  too nice. And so was that weird kid from the future. So, perhaps that’s where her confusion stems from. Does she know she’s playing with fire? But hey, good for me, right? This girl’s suicide will be my playdate. Like I care. Like I keep telling everyone. I’m not nice.  

 

Fuck. If the key to becoming a Super Saiyan is being  _ nice _ , I really should just give up now.

 

“So, what kind of films did you enjoy in the PTO?”

 

I smooth the snarl off my face before I answer. I have to stay calm here; I don't want to mess this up, not after all my hard work. I answer honestly. There’s really only one serious contender. “Protocol and Safety on your Space Pod.”

 

She gives me a doubting glare, but I gesture at her with a shrug. “No, Seriously! It’s actually the best and most realistic film out there. And really, really educational.” 

 

“Right.” she snorts, in a derogatory manner. “What’s so good about it?”

 

She may not be convinced,  but to me it had been quite an eye-opener to learn how many ways you can pull yourself into the vacuum of space and burst from the pressure change or —if you remember to expel the air from your lungs— slowly suffocate and freeze. Or, alternatively, all the ways you can roast, explode, microwave or poison yourself to death without even stepping out of your pod. “And the stuntmen demonstrating all these possibilities are famous across the stars. Immortal, as it were.” I pause, considering:  “figuratively speaking, of course. They all died at some point in the production of the film.”

 

“That’s disgusting.”

 

“Hn.” I guess it kind of is, from her point of view. 

 

Bulma starts up another film and is quiet through the intro. “You do get the themes, don’t you?” 

 

“Of course, it's not that difficult. Just stupid.”

 

Bulma hums. “With all your talk about how different we’re supposed to be, you have little difficulty understanding human relations. Revenge, love, family, honor.”

 

“Of course I understand revenge and honor. Saiyans are bred for war. Love is for the weak, though, makes me sick.”

 

“But you can recognise it easily enough. Even if you sent your children off in space?”

 

She seems to be under the impression I grew up in Saiyan society. I see no reason to set her straight. “Only the weak ones were sent into space but, yes, attachment is a weakness Saiyans do not have.” Besides, the survival rates for Saiyans were low; especially a cub’s. One would be an idiot to get attached. _ There are always more Saiyans… _ I shake my head to dispel the thought. I should just take what I can get and enjoy myself tonight.

 

“What about princes?”

 

“Pfffah,” I thought we’d covered this subject, “my father was a useless fuck.” She's upsetting me with her questions, and I think it's only fair I get my turn. I get to my knees, stare into her face, from up a little too close. Her expression is of one of concentration, her gaze trailed off like she tries to understand, but I demand her attention by moving a little closer still. She notices and her brow unknits, eyes growing wide. After a moment, a hesitant smile creeps up her face.

 

She moves to speak, but I give no quarter. It’s my turn now. “Still, your parents are just as bad.” I move forward, slowly, as she scoots away and reclines, our gazes locked. I keep going, pushing her back without touching her, until her shoulders pres against the armrest. She blinks wide-eyed up at me like a doe caught in headlights. I grin down at her wickedly. “I wonder... would anyone come if you  _ screamed _ ?”

 

She starts to look a little nervous. It’s been a while since I got even that. “Um. Maybe mom. But she’s a pretty sound sleeper, and usually knows better than to bother. Dad’s away on conference...”

 

“Aaah. You poor little girl. No one around to rescue you? No —what’s his face, with the scars? Not even Kakarot?”

 

“Didn’t you hear? They’re all out training. Besides, Yamcha and I are on a break.” She blinks again and her nervousness dissipates, then she reaches out to the hem of my shirt and pulls on an imaginary thread. “Again. I really should tell him off when he inevitably comes crawling back. But what can I say...?”

This is too easy “So, they’ve all  _ left _ you...” I whisper, softly in her ear. “What if something happened to you...?”

 

“You’re here with me, right?”

 

Oh, it’s funny. Right? I don't even fight the chuckle that makes its way up my throat. At this point, I am no longer surprised by her odd ideas. Bulma may be brilliant, but danger isn’t much of a problem here on this magical little planet. Apparently she’s lived her life just play-testing her theories. Just trying out any crazy idea that popped into her head without ever having to think about any repercussions. I mean, she’s how old; 28? 29? Yet she’s still innocent and naive as a child. Well. Maybe not  _ innocent _ or  _ child-like _ , but still. I  _ hate _ her. “What if I, you know, kill you?”

 

She grins right back at me. “You wouldn't do that. And even if you did, by mistake I’m sure, there’s always the Dragon Balls.”

 

Oh yes, the magic balls. How could I forget? “There are things far worse than death, you know. Things your Dragon Balls could never fix. Things that would make you turn a knife on yourself, just to escape the memories.”

 

Bulma snorts, her lips part slowly. “Ve-ge-ta? Are you trying to scare me again?”  

 

Why would I need to  _ try _ ? I close those last inches between us and take a taste. Her mouth is sweet as those berries she likes. I look into her eyes, and I have to chuckle again. There is no fear; just a little confusion and that excited twinkle. No one is stopping me or even trying to, not even her. I wonder how far I can push, how much I can take, before reason kicks in and she finally learns to fear me. Too far, I’m sure, and so I can do whatever I want. 

 

Silly girl. 

  
  



	32. 32 pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> frieza tries to be nice. 
> 
> special thanks to my betas over8000 and meganechan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and hi Dianaefox, bv4ever, kimothyschma! i really appreciated you taking the time to comment and talking ^^
> 
> ho, if you guys thought Vegeta was a creep last time.. he learned from the best.

They trudged in single file, his Saiyans. Dirty, trailing mud and putrid green blood. All eight Saiyans, the last of their kind. A sorry procession of dimwitted beasts, led by a little Prince only discernible from the rabble by his diminutive size. Frieza could have cried — due to the sheer injustice done to him, of course; from having his favourite project reduced to this.

 

Instead the emperor reclined further into his hover-throne and pursed his lips in disappointment, lazily swirling the wine in his glass. So this was what he was left with? He thought he’d done better; had them trained a little beyond such... boorish manners. Frieza wondered if he should have picked differently after all, if he could have made a better choice.

Nothing to be done about it now; the Saiyan planet lay in ashes by the tyrant's own hand. Frieza had been sad to do it. Such a waste. Still, sometimes even a galactic overlord had to bend to the will of another. Which was, of course, upsetting in and of itself and required some form of repercussion down the line. Because, in all honesty, Frieza was quite upset about this entire predicament.

 

Frieza stilled his tail, for thinking of father and his stupid ultimatums always made it hard to control. Revenge was already in the making, he promised the appendage, as he pushed himself into the backrest and looked down on his Saiyans. The last eight in existence. The last this universe would ever see; Frieza doubted he’d get the chance to make more, though he’d collected enough DNA material over the years to do so. Now they were an endangered species. That had to count for something, didn't it? Just how rare they were. Why, when once they bred like the plague, now they were a collector’s item. These few were  _ so _ much more valuable now, even if they did not look it. Surely, Father would understand that killing any more would be a shame.

 

Yes, Frieza considered with a slow tilt of the head, had it been left up to his father the entire Saiyan race would have met their end a long time ago. And as they were now, soiled and dirty, Frieza did understand his father’s contempt of them. Space-pirates, King Cold used to call them. Just a bunch a wild space-faring tribes that ambushed traders and travelers and ransacked unsuspecting planets and colonies. They were a risk to Cold’s assets, and a competitor to his less legal incomes. Homeless, tribal creatures that had lived in space and then made the ridiculous mistake of banding together to settle down on a  _ planet. _ And in this moment, right after its loss, Frieza could see why his father hated them. Only barbarians lost all their reason and manners because of some trifling emotional loss. Why, the lot just stood here in front of their benevolent master for over a minute, too confused or dazed to even remember to take a knee. 

 

Then Vegeta looked up and the Ice-jin noticed once again how much the boy resembled the former king. Such a lost expression, like he’d only just remembered where he was. So much like his father. How Frieza missed the elder Vegeta, he reminisced over his wine. Such a regretful slip of the hand. 

 

They had been inseparable, the pair of them. And didn't they have the  _ best _ of times, Vegeta Senior and him? Young Frieza and the previous prince. King now, or had been when he was still alive... well, whatever. They had been the best of friends: a boy and his monkey… The future king had been by his side for almost two years. Frieza thought of those trips, where he and Vegeta Senior had gallivanted across the universe on King Cold’s behest, as his fondest childhood memories. Such good times.

 

Frieza had been a small thing back then; little more than a hatchling. The young Ice Lord found he was routinely underestimated by whatever aliens he ran into, and though he enjoyed their surprise when they learned the truth, a bit of respect could be entertaining as well. And  _ his first Prince _ had been quite a bit larger and bulkier than this new one. Not to mention, most races had learned to fear the Saiyans and their Oozaru trick quickly. Some even remembered the apes from before the foolish Saiyans had allowed themselves to get boxed in on Vegeta-sei.

 

That was another odd thing, Frieza considered, contemplating his monkeys’ milling about without purpose. Why were his Saiyans so upset about the loss of that big rock anyway? It had been an ugly, hot thing with precious few resources to go around. Yet the Saiyans had obsessed over the idea that they needed to live and spend all their formative years in nature; they even stuck to the idea of on-planet nurseries. Wild reserves, really, where they dumped their young. While it should have been clear to everyone that their precious Vegeta-sei didn't have enough game to feed the children tossed in them. No, the planet and the very idea of it had been a weakness, and the remaining Saiyans should be thankful Frieza had gotten rid of it for them. Not having any delusions about where they belonged had improved their chances of survival drastically.

 

As if responding to a silent cue the Prince blinked, remembered where he was, and slowly lowered himself to a knee. The other seven followed his lead. Frieza could not help but smile. Such a  _ good _ little monkey, and so much more pragmatic than his father.  _ That _ one had been a dreamer and a idealist, although Frieza had done his best to beat it out of the elder Vegeta. Still that was what had ultimately killed the king in the end, some misguided belief that he needed to come and rescue his son. Pathetic. Yet Frieza missed that big oaf, even that aggressively suicidal streak.

 

As a young Ice-jin Frieza had enjoyed having something wild and impressive to sic upon his enemies. His attack dog had come with a built-in leash too, although near the end of their partnership Frieza might have squeezed that tail a bit too hard and too often, for the future emperor had found the effects of a good tug waning. Only a year after Vegeta Sr. had returned to Vegeta-sei, tail desensitizing training had become mandatory for Saiyan elites and Frieza had never even received a proper thank you for  _ inventing the procedure _ .  

 

Yet  Frieza had learned a lot from his time with the late Vegeta as well, and he would not make the same mistakes with the son as he had made with the father.  For one thing, he’d learned that Saiyans were not very susceptible to pain stimuli. The monkeys might feel it, but unless Frieza was willing to maim or permanently damage one, such forms of punishment became normalised and were a lousy deterrent in the end. King Cold had proven as much with their deserters and rebels; pain had never worked, had it? They had still rebelled in the end. Only X-ing had helped. But Frieza would not stoop to that.

 

Frieza would just do a better job with the boy. He already  _ had _ , he realized as he looked  down on the boy's supplicant form. The trick was getting to them young, and Frieza congratulated himself on a job well done. He could keep this one, and King Cold better stop his griping. Why, the little thing was  _ completely harmless _ . Dreams and fortune tellers be damned.  

 

“Vegeta, dear. Let me be the first to share my condolences. It is unfortunate.” As much as he hated lying to his poor little monkey, he would have to stick to that silly story about an asteroid hitting the planet. It would be easier for them to accept, and if the other Saiyans ever learned the truth, they would hate Vegeta for the choice Frieza had made. Frieza doubted young Vegeta would appreciate what had been given up for him anyway. 

 

“How...” The boy grunted, then continued after a long pause, his eyes trained on the floor. “How many survivors?”

 

Frieza tutted to himself and toyed with the glass in his hands, but he made his voice soft and understanding. “The planet was completely destroyed. We are still looking, but so far you eight are believed to be all that is left. I am as upset about this as you are, my dear.”

 

The boy blinked up at him, confused. Frieza gestured towards him with a hand in invitation. “Well, regardless, I want you to know that you and your men are and will always be welcome with me. I will always protect my dear monkeys from those who would call you dangerous, or unpredictable…” Catching himself, Frieza continued, offering also: “...or from any fool stupid enough to think they can take vengeance on you just because there are so few of you left.”

Vegeta’s gaze widened, then settled on expression wasn't as thankful as his emperor had hoped, speaking through his teeth “...Thank you..?”

The boy trailed off looking like he had swallowed something vile, but Frieza let it slide. As usual; for Frieza bore the Saiyans no ill will. Why, he had been their protector since they had come and begged King Cold for a treaty. Come as a last and final option, Frieza knew well. It had been an act of desperation, their last resort.  But they had only had themselves to blame for that. The moment the Saiyan tribes had joined together and settled on a planet, they had doomed themself; had taken any chance at freedom for themselves and snuffed it out. It had been like painting a giant bullseye on their backs. The Galactic Patrol, along with many different races, had banded together and attacked the Saiyans, getting back at them for centuries of raids and piracy. By the time the Saiyans had decided to seek help, most of their spacecraft had been destroyed and their people had been grounded on their stupid planet and starving for decades. 

 

If not for Frieza, there would never have been a treaty between Saiyans and Ice-jins. King Cold only regarded the Saiyans as boorish competitors. He never saw much use for them. But Frieza had, and he’d argued their case. Daddy had caved, and Frieza had got his Saiyans. All of them; the beginning of his own army. Of course, he’d had to change everything about the way they lived to make them useful, and they were always causing problems. A little uprising here, another small team going rogue there. And how could he forget the Great Rebellion that followed after Vegeta’s Grandfather announced a the treaty with the Colds, incited despite the Saiyans being at the point of eating each other? Oh ho, and let’s not forget a few years later the Second Rebellion, intertwined with the transition of power from the grandfather to the last King Vegeta. And finally, the one Frieza had found brewing when he had come to finally end the Saiyans and their planet at last. 

 

Every time, despite how they traveled the galaxies, the Saiyans had rallied at Vegeta-sei like it was some kind of beacon. It was not. Just a useless attachment, something that made the monkeys think they were more than just a handful of rabble. The Saiyans never learned, though, and beating down one uprising only made the next more difficult to crush. Sooner or later, Frieza always had to deal with them himself.

 

In a way, he liked that about the monkeys, Frieza contemplated as he channeled benevolence and patience from his throne. A tyrant’s life was dull enough that little challenges like the Saiyans had posed were a good diversion from the usual drudgery. Yet this time they had caused too much of a scene, and Father had threatened to step in. It was ridiculous, but King Cold feared the Saiyans. Just because of some prophecy, and the little monkey Prince who fit it.  

 

So Frieza had sent Vegeta and his squad on a little mission when the time had come to destroy Vegeta-sei. He’d also meticulously planned the official message about the end of the planet to reach them at the end of their mission, so as not to distract them too much. Ah, but with the Saiyans in cryo-sleep for the return journey it would feel like they had gotten the news only yesterday. Why, they were probably in... what was the word? Shock. That’s the one. Or maybe mourning. Frieza might not understand or feel such lowly attachments, but he did know  _ of _ them and how ridiculously emotional Saiyans could get over them.

 

The tyrant nodded to himself and crossed his legs. The boy deserved a reward. The big one, the one he had been planning; and with it Frieza would also make his old man bleed in one fell swoop. “Now that that is out of the way, it occurs to me that having no homeworld turns you more into a orphan than that little accident with your father.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Yes.” Oh, it was perfect. “You see, this leaves you without any empire to run in the future. But, luckily, I have just the position open. Here, see? If I were to  _ adopt  _ you…”

 

Perfect. Frieza would finally get to keep his favourite pet at his side and he’d scandalize Father Cold as well. Oh yes, making Vegeta effectively his successor and the old fart’s grandson, was the perfect payback for his meddling with the Saiyans.

 

The Ice-jin was so pleased with his plan that it took him a while to realise the boy had not answered. In fact, he was standing. Standing, and visibly shaking. Ah. How touching. “You are welcome.” Frieza smiled.

 

“I refuse.”

 

Frieza blinked. “What are you…”

 

“You can't make me.” Feet planted apart, the monkey Prince crouched down like he was ready for battle. Like he had some sort of fighting chance… 

 

Good humor gone, Frieza gulped down his wine and set down his glass a little too hard, before he fixed the boy with a glare. “Actually, I can. It’s what fathers do, really.”

 

“You killed my father.”

 

That insolent whelp!

 

Frieza was out from his chair and in the monkey's face, glaring straight into Vegeta’s eyes. The Ice-jin barely managed to restrain himself. He would not snap this little one’s neck. He would not. 

 

“And now, I’m replacing him with a better one.” Frieza made his voice sound sweet, but one claw hooked the boy’s armor and pulled him in closer. Closer and down, because at some point the little upstart had outgrown him. Frieza had the sudden desire to cut off the boy’s feet. “You should be honored.”

 

“Fuck. You.”

 

It was so difficult to control his tail; the part of an Ice-jin most susceptible to emotions. It trembled and throbbed with the want and need to whip that insolent brat, to wring the little monkey’s neck. But Frieza’s discipline was stronger. Frieza stilled it, stomped out all movement with a long, slow breath. Then the emperor recited to himself that basic truth: ‘ _ Never hit a monkey you intend to keep.’ _

 

Stubborn boy… No, instead of falling for the obvious bait, Frieza smiled thinly as he rocked back on his feet.  Oh, so Vegeta wanted to play? Fine. Frieza liked to play. It would be their  _ game _ ... yes. A new one. “Suit yourself.” 

 

Releasing the ape, Frieza sauntered slowly back to his throne and put his hands behind his back. “If you want want to inherit your planet’s legacy then the debt is also yours. You see, this unforeseen tragedy strikes the PTO as well.” 

 

With a small leap he hovered and slowly reseated himself in his chair. Frieza basked in their confused frowns, then elaborated. “As you know, Saiyans have always been the— ah— workhorses amongst my troops. They always deliver such  _ excellent  _ service. So, you understand there is always a large list of assignments they currently have running.”

 

With a lazy hand motion, Frieza called Zarbon forward. The elite approached Vegeta with a tablet. 

 

“Anyway, you Saiyans have always delivered, so there has never been a need to... collect. But as I imagine the Prince would know, there is a clause in our agreement that any assignments not carried out incur a fine to be collected from either the contractor, or in case of death, his  _ next of kin? _ ”

 

Amusingly enough, the boy's face actually drained of colour as he read the list. So many planets, some of them years of travel away. “You can't possibly…”

 

The Lizard emperor stood again, schooling his expression in controlled sadness “Oh, my dear boy, you must understand! This is out of my hands! If my father King Cold finds out I do not collect my dues, he will know it for favouritism.”

 

“But...” Frieza turned away from the teen Saiyan, lifted a finger to give the boy a conspiratory look. “If I were to adopt you, then it would be easy for me to clear your debt. All you have to do is renounce your position...”

 

“No.”

 

Ha, how simple the boy was. Did he actually think it was possible to work off that many missions? To make sure he would not even consider the impossibility was the easiest thing with his little prince: spell it out for him. Reverse psychology. “Vegeta. Dear boy. You must understand..”

 

“ **No.** ” The Saiyan ran through the numbers mumbling, counting. The Ice Lord supposed that in theory, it might be possible to complete the purges —over one hundred; but it would take _years_. Vegeta lacked the experience to tell it would be impossible, though. Especially with such a meager squad. 

 

“How much time do I have?”

 

“Aah. You wish to work it off. How _ honourable _ .” Frieza smiled a toothy smile. His little prince was nothing if not stubborn, but that only made the game more fun. “I suppose I can pull some strings and postpone your payments. But you do realize,” he added, just to rub it in, “there will be interest.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


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	33. 33 - soft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its the morning after and Vegeta's in for a surprise.  
> special thanks 2 my betas. meganechan and over8000

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kimothyschma after the greatest creep.. good contrast, huh?  
> DianaeFox Bulma's on a different plain of 'human'. no wonder vegeta's confused. lol.  
> \----

A contented sigh escapes my lips, and I’m too far gone to even fight it. Too... what was the word... Content? Comfortable? Naah.  _ Relaxed _ . Yes, that’s the one. I’m totally relaxed. Her word, and she giggles it as she strokes my hair in the first rays of the morning. “See? Told you I could do it.”

 

I mumble a weak curse at her, but I can’t be bothered to even lift my head from the sheets. Why would I? I fit in snugly here, against her thigh, under her ever-running waterfall of words. Birds sing outside, a background choir to her song. It’s fine. I don't even mind, their frantic calls are just lulling noise to me. I think I finally understand their heat, but all mine is spent.

 

I almost succeed in dozing off in a complete state of bliss when two words filter through, and a siren goes off in my head. I try to quiet it, tell myself not to listen. Whatever silly misconceptions the woman has about our one night... fling… it worked. I’m relaxed. Now let me sleep.

“ _ Next time _ ...”

My filter has shut off and I can hear her use the tone of voice that suggests business, though I know now that’s how she disguises things that are _ too personal _ . She is casually sugging such lewd things, and I can only hope that she’s this bold because we’re alone.. Such talk is not suited for the light of day. “There’s so much more we can do. Well, I could teach you.”

 

I groan, give up on ignoring her chatter. Her light tone just weighs the words down, and coupled with that nonsensical flow of words... “Wait...” Struggling up is a fight; a mental one, against myself. Confusion, for once, is at my side to help out. “What ‘next time’...?”

 

Bulma stares at me for several seconds; I manage to persuade my unwilling body to at least scoot to the side of her bed because I know she will launch into some form of tirade. Yet that doesn't happen. Instead I get one of those weak smiles, the polite kind. “Well, don't get me wrong, that was a wild ride. But we really should try again; it would be better. I mean, do you even know what foreplay means?” 

 

I gape at her, then slowly fall back to my side. I keep my gaze on her, my head propped up on my elbow. She breaks the stare and I find my own eyes drop to the bed. This... this is so weird. Awkward even. And yet. I rearrange the sheets a little before asking, just to make sure. ”You... you wanna try this again?”

 

She gets a weird look on her face. A wide-eyed blink. She brings her hands up to her naked chest, like she finally remembers to shield her breasts from me, but her voice only suggests doubt. Sadly, it's not her life choices she’s doubting here. No, she’s second guessing her skills in the sack. “Well, heh. Yes? Unless you don't?”

 

She says it like she can't really believe it’s possible that I wouldn’t. And, don't get me wrong.  She has a point there. I mean, this was quite the treat. Best lay I ever had. Though being able to do missionary without fighting the need to barf in some creature’s face is a low bar to set. That said, I kind of expected her to have come to her senses half way through. I mean, she screamed loud enough for it. 

 

This is all very confusing. I mean, I’ve dealt with the ‘flirt with danger’ type before. And the one thing they have in common is, they don’t really expect you to take them up on their dare. Whether it’s ‘want to fight?’, ‘want to fuck?’, or ‘want to play chicken with our attack pods?’, as soon as you take them up on it, they high-tail it out of your way, never to return again.

 

Well I didn't really give her an option to bail half-way through our lovemaking, and she deserved as much. But honestly I’d expected her to be gone in the morning; to have run off crying to her boyfriend. So I suppose she’s the polite type that says ‘thank you sir’ at the end. But this? Suggesting to go at it for another round? This takes things to a whole new level. Apparently I have yet to outdo myself.. I have failed to scare her off yet again.

 

I barely stifle a snicker. Oh, this is  _ rich. _ This has to be the best hostile planetary take-over yet. Purges are child’s play compared to this. _ Hello, human? _ The Saiyans are already here. In your houses, eating your food, doing your women… Why are you not panicking?

 

Not the woman, of course. She doesn’t know how or when to panic. Why would she? I’ve been telling myself this over and over, but apparently I just can’t wrap my head around it: Bulma is fine with everything, anything. I really could do anything I want to her, without any repercussion whatsoever. I could- I could probably kill her now, and she wouldn’t mind. I move towards her, put my hand to her neck. Imagine it... She’d be smiling as I squeezed the life out of her, wouldn’t she? I wonder, when they bring her back with the Dragon Balls, would she tell her friends not to worry? That it was just a little accident? I imagine she would.

 

My silence confuses her, and she crawls closer to me on the bed with another half-smile, pusing right into my hand at her neck. She lays down next to me with her face only inches from mine eyes bright and full of trust. “We can, you know, try some things. I've got equipment. Promise, it'll feel much better if I come first.”

 

The topic is unnerving to say the least, especially when spoken in the light of day, and especially by a woman. Worse yet, a  _ lady _ . Yet it does offer better options than wringing that little neck in my paws. My fingers have already made their way to the nape of her neck, and it only feels natural to stroke it. So much like a Saiyan, and yet so different. 

 

No, it would be a shame to kill her now. I mean, there’s only so much time left. Think of the fun I’d miss. Besides, while the rules of the universe may not apply to her, I am less sure about her friends. She’s my shield. As long as I stick to her, there really are no consequences to my actions. I grin at her. 

 

She takes this for consent, relief spreading through her voice. “Great! That's great... just one little thing,” she babbles but I’m more interested in kissing her. “Do you mind if we, you know. Do it without protection?”

 

Oh right. Those silly rubber things. Why would I mind? I didn't even know about their existence before yesterday. I can definitely do without that shit. I roll until I’m on top of her. She giggles. “This is important, Vegeta. You wouldn't care if I had a baby, right? I mean, I thought of asking Yamcha first, but he’s already more attached to me than I like.”

 

Is she asking me for a donation? The way Nappa used to with his fling? I’m pleased to know she recognises superior genes when presented to her, but the chances of us being compatible are slim. Kakarot’s whelp is likely to be one lucky shot in a million. But besides that, we’re all going to be dead in little more than a year. Doesn't she realise that? Seems a waste of effort; by the time if would be out of its tank armageddon would be taking place.

 

Never mind; that’s her problem. And besides, there is a silver lining to it all: “I don't care about anything. And whatever we do here will never matter.”

 

No consequences, no future. I’ve already done all I can to stop it. If it wasn’t enough, that’s fine. Feels so good to just let go. It’s liberating. I can just fuck around. Literally. It won't make a difference in the end.  


	34. welcome!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my betas, and special thanks to all the reviewers. thank you!!! kimothy, Diana, bv4ever; it was great to hear your insights!  
> dark fic gets a little dark now soon btw. just a heads-up. I don't think I have young readers by now, but who knows.

“Welcome,” the black-furred creatures sang. “Welcome,” and it was the weirdest, most unusual greeting Vegeta had ever been met with on a purge. 

 

The entire populace of the small planet had gathered; creatures sang, smiled, stood with arms wide. Their faces, just a little too hairy to be Saiyan, were friendly and open. Vegeta had never encountered something so... disconcerting. And, judging from the confused stares of his squad, neither had any of his men. 

 

The young commander’s voice broke. “Do you know who we are?!” He screeched at their leader; a small, broadly smiling thing with white tufts flowing from its hairy ears. 

 

“Why yes, of course.” a taller elder creature next to the first cooed, its face somehow eerily familiar. “You are Saiyans. You have come to show us the way. The way to paradise. Welcome!”

 

It was unbelievable. Or at least, Vegeta could hardly believe it. The Saiyan teen realised with a sinking feeling that there was such a thing as  _ too much intel gathering _ ; for right now, Vegeta was terribly sorry he and his squad had learned the native language. If they had not been able to understand these beings, he would definitely have had less trouble blasting them all. In an act of near-desperation, he turned to Nappa; the one brute he could count on to make a mess anywhere. “Well, don't just stand there...”

 

He would have said more, honestly he would have, but the singing increased tenfold and drowned out his voice. The adoring stares held no fear even when Nappa, with a slow shake of the head, powered up a blast in his hand. The elders gathered in the center started to chant, and Nappa aimed at them with agonizing slowness. It did nothing to stop their words. “In the beginning, god warred against god in the everlasting Chaos. Evenly matched, always striving.”

 

Those gathered all around answered, in adoration: “ _ Vaaläh Lahweho!” _

 

Nappa blinked, expression shocked, as he turned to Vegeta. “Hey, does that sound familiar?” 

 

Vegeta scowled; because of course it did. They’d learned these creatures’ tongue. He’d learned over sixty languages by now, so even if they had not, he’d probably could have pieced it together. Although, Vegeta realised, he didn't know what these particular words meant. Didn't know, and yet felt like he should.

 

The elder at the center raised his hands in ecstasy. “True Saiyans could live and thrive in the skies, resilient as they were.  Yet, for every one true Saiyan, a hundred lesser Saiyans were created and found defective. The lesser suffered in the skies and grew weak and sickly. But even the true Saiyans missed the earth they came from. But the gods were cruel, and refused all Saiyans, lesser or perfect, to return to the earth they pined for.”

 

“ _ Vaaläh Lahweho!”  _ the crowd returned again _.  _ Vegeta swallowed, a sliver of panic started to grow in his gut. How was he supposed to fight these creatures? Why did they not fear him nor his men? Vegeta was used to that; enjoyed it. The screaming panic as they landed, the begging masses, the desperate air of defeat. It always got his blood going; pushed away the lull of cryo-sleep with a feeling akin to happiness. 

 

“..and so the Saiyans rose up and killed their gods.” And a hush fell, as the outer gathering fell silent and dropped to their knees. Faces in awe, but still no fear.In a moment of weakness, Vegeta threw an imploring look Nion’s way, but the man wasn’t even looking at his prince anymore.

 

What was he to do? If they were not afraid, couldn’t the creatures at least  _ hate _ them? Anger and aggression were just par for the course; the kill-or-be-killed mentality was something his men could understand. It might not be fun to have guns firing at you before you even touched down, rocking pods to the point that he’d need to abandon the small spaceships mid-air in order to defend them, but at least his squad would already be  _ fighting _ at this point. This... Vegeta didn't know where to begin.

 

“But when the Saiyans tried to return home, they could not find the way.They looked everywhere, but they could not find it! And as they searched, their brethren, the lesser Saiyans grew weaker and frail.”

 

“ _ Vaaläh Lahweho!”  _ the crowd returned, more solemnly now.

 

Oh yes, the creatures were obviously not ignorant either. They really did know what Saiyans were. Vegeta could have handled ignorance. Confused beings staring at them, coming close to investigate, or even milling about mindlessly. Creatures that were too stupid to know what a Saiyan was deserved to die anyway, and his squad usually handled such cattle right and fast. This time Vegeta would have to show them the way though, start up the fireworks himself. 

 

“And so, the true Saiyans promised to take their brethren to paradise. They took their siblings to this small planet, and with the power of its moon, promised to show them the way.” The liturgy continued as Vegeta gathered his own deadly attack.

 

It was hard. Unbelievably hard. Vegeta aimed his waiting blast first at the leader, then at a gathering of smiling faces to the side, yet he was still unable to fire. Unable to make a decision. 

 

This was not how Vegeta expected purges to go. He literally didn't have time for any of this. He had a long list to work through, thanks to Frieza’s newly imposed debt tally, and they were behind schedule as it was. Yet his Saiyan war machine had ground to an unexpected halt. 

 

There was too much riding on this. Literally all Vegeta had left was on the line. His name, his heritage, his last fucking  _ people _ . If Vegeta lost this game, he’d lose everything. And there was little of it left without his planet to rule. Damnit, Vegeta-sei might be gone but Vegeta would not let Frieza take the memory or the idea of it away.

 

Yet his team was useless. They moped about the loss of their home, sat around with vacant stares now and then. Sometimes they followed orders if Vegeta screamed at them loud enough. But there was never any real urgency in their action. Here again, as per usual, Vegeta was the one that needed to make all the hard decisions. Even Raditz was useless, looking left and right with wide eyes akin to panic. He’d been off his game since they had received the news. Hell, even during the purge before they were notified he’d been absent minded, Vegeta realised. 

 

The leaders still sang: “But the Oozaru wept. It was not strong enough to send its own to paradise, and in anger, it destroyed our moon.”

 

So, it was all up to him. Fighting with himself, Vegeta levelled his hand at a cluster of the mammals gathered in front of them. At least they did not hide. The Prince would just have to start their bloody work and lead the way. His squad would fall in line fast enough once the creatures started to scream and run. Still, this was uncomfortably hard, and Vegeta found it difficult to release the blast.

 

“They promised to return. To come back and show us the way. And now, finally, they have!” The elders screamed together now, at the top of their lungs. “Our wait is over. Our suffering is at an end.”

 

“ _ Vaaläh Lahweho,” _ the crowd replied one last time. 

 

And then alone, the one elder at the center affirmed. “ _ Vaaläh Lahweho.  _ But first, we feast!”

 

Then as one, the natives stepped back and opened a path towards a feast worthy for kings. Some of the creatures must have just set it up while the other sang, for only now the delicious fragrances reached Vegeta’s nostrils. Mountains of food! The invading smell caused Vegeta’s mouth to salivate in happy recognition. 

 

The young commander froze, aware deeply of the collective intake of breath from his men. When was the last time they had had a decent meal? Far too long. They had been existing for a year now on minimum rations with Vegeta whipping his men back into their pods as soon as they cleared a planet. They never stopped to pillage or rest. It was a necessary sacrifice if they wanted to have a chance of working through that list of purges quick enough to lessen their debt. Now Vegeta paid the price, for his stomach howled at him to simply bury himself in food.

 

With self-restraint that would make even the mythical Yardrats jealous, Vegeta calmed himself, and though his ki-blast died in his palm he managed to keep his feet from moving. Although Vegeta might have had the discipline to fight his hunger, his men obviously did not. The feast had the most devastating effect. As one, the Saiyans dropped their battle stances and sprang forward.

 

“What are you doing?” Vegeta growled at Nappa, trying to cow him into submission by fear. When that did nothing, Vegeta grabbed the giant elite by his thigh-armor and tried to slow him down. To his dismay, Vegeta found himself dragged along quite easily. How humiliating. Besides, Vegeta had thought the big dope was at least loyal enough to wait for his prince’s command. 

 

“Boss, we’re starving.” The hulking brute whined, already digging into a meaty leg. Out of the rest of his men, only Raditz hung back, an uncertain frown on his face. Jack, of course, didn't see a problem. He handed a rack of ribs to his partner Papple and dug into another himself as he responded with a tone that bordered on insolence. “Can we at least eat their food before we go to work,  _ sir? _ ”

 

Vegeta hesitated, fought the pull of his own hunger, then crouched down as he finally perceived an incoming threat to focus on.  _ Ah, the feast was a trick, obviously! _ From amongst the gathering something bounced and bounded towards him; the creatures quickly cleared a path as it beelined for the prince. Just as Vegeta brought his fists up in an open tiger-paw stance, it passed by the last of its kind. And Vegeta was shocked.

 

The Saiyan teen blinked at the sight before him. If this was their best warrior, Vegeta should not have come with the full squad. Certainly, this one was young and healthy; perhaps even agile and fast. But she — definitely a she - had little muscle and obviously no battle experience. She wore no armor save a thin skirt and an equally flimsy top. Her fur shone in the starlight like a black rainbow, covering her except for her face and belly. She clutched her furry hands to her chest, and she smiled at him in a most radiating way. Not a mocking or challenging smile. No, just... Happy?

 

In the breath that followed, Vegeta realised all the creatures had sunk to their knees. The girl in front of him opened her arms to him and then closed her eyes. With a proud, pleased grin she presented what she had hidden in her grasp. She stepped closer and held out a necklace of flowers in bright, happy colors that glowed soft in the starlight. “  _ Vaaläh ‘alan! _ I am Dandelion. Thank you for coming. Finally!”

With an angry growl, Vegeta stepped back. The girl’s smile faded, and the gathered crowd suddenly fell silent. Confused, the Prince turned first to Raditz, then to Nion, and finally even to Nappa. But Nappa was already stuffing his face, while Nion seemed to make an attempt at refusing a second helping of juicy looking steak. Neither of the older men offered any help or insights. As for Raditz, he looked as clueless as Vegeta felt; likely even more so.

 

“You hate us.” The girl spoke in a heart-wrenching tone, one filled with self-loathing and conviction. Vegeta focused on her; her head hung limply, posture defeated as she still held out her flower chain in bent shaking hands. “Stupid us. We must disgust you. We are pathetic, weak creatures, after all. We shouldn’t dare…”

 

“No.” The word came out of his mouth without him meaning to speak. But... it was true, Vegeta realised. And the reason these creatures seemed so familiar finally clicked. “No, not disgusting. You look like Oozaru.” Like fine-featured, somewhat feline miniature Oozaru, with long flowing tails and perfect fur. Yet still Oozaru. The resemblance was striking. 

 

Jack laughed, and looped his arms over two little Oozaru females that seemed in ecstasy from having a killer draped over them. The big Saiyan spoke around a mouthful of food. “Yeah, you’re fucking beautiful.”

The flowers somehow found their way around Vegeta’s shoulders and a plate of morsels that wafted sweet aromas was brought close to his face. 

 

“My Prince!” Nion’s voice sounded high and panicked as he pushed himself in between the teen and his intended target. “We cannot accept their food! Do you know what happens to a Saiyan that refuses his purge?”

 

“Of course I do.” Vegeta scoffed, though he had no idea what might happen. A Saiyan refusing orders? The idea was ludicrous. Saiyans loved to fight and kill. Although, right now, Vegeta might love  _ food  _ even more. The rumbling of his stomach had turned into a slow groan by now, as if it had finally realised the brain would not give it free reign.    

 

Nion nodded, then made an odd, slashing gesture to the side of his head. “We have to stop the others from eating.”

 

Vegeta blinked, looked around. He’d already tried! If Nion thought they were in danger, then why was he not fighting these fools, or at least yelling at the other Saiyans to listen to their  _ prince and commander _ ? Everyone was indulging at this point, except Raditz. He stood to the side with his arms crossed while three of the creatures surrounded him with their offerings. A nearly indifferent look was on his face, but Vegeta didn't miss the way his left eye twitched.  

 

The prince hesitated, then looked back at Nion. Perhaps between the three of them if they dragged the men back into formation they could still salvage this purge... but any thoughts of saving the mission trailed away when he saw the old man chewing... 

 

“What,” the fool said, one hand smeared sauce off his face. “Just a little bite. After that, I’ll stop.”

 

With an angry growl, Vegeta pushed his way out of the crowd. 


	35. plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> special thanks 2 my betas meganechan and over8000!

“Vegeta, can you stay focussed for one second?”

 

“Hnnn?” I thought I was focussed. Very focussed; on her bare shoulder, enticingly framed by a red top that looks like it could just slip off her bust. So, I’m thinking of branching out in that direction. Summer is definitely my favourite time of year. With temperatures high enough to fool myself into thinking I’m on my home planet and the woman naked enough for me to appreciate the fact humans are just a lot less built than Saiyan females.

 

I run a finger along her perfectly unmarred skin, marvel at how soft and even it is. Like a Saiyan baby’s bum, only without all the corded muscle. I touch my lips to her shoulder, but she does not melt into my touch. Not yet. Instead, she taps her pen on the paper pad a few times, crosses her legs as she straightens from her position on the side of the bed, and pulls slightly out of reach. “Can we get a little _ business _ done before  _ pleasure? _ ” 

 

_ Absolutely not. _ Yet saying so has proven a bad idea. She gets all riled up about it. It’s better to just derail her without letting on. It’s doable. She’s very susceptible, as it turns out. So, I innocently answer, “sure”. Then I put my hands on the back of her top. “How does this come off?”

 

“Hanky panky does not constitute business, Vegeta.” Bulma sounds stern. She is set on staying on target this time, but it’s late and she’s got to be tired. Kami knows I am. Tired of sitting in the gravity room all day, pretending to train because she won’t let me touch her before we’re done with the working day. That’s fine. Last thing I need is for this to go public. Oh, no I’m not even worried about repercussions at this point. With only a year to go before the androids show, what can they do really? Kill me?

 

No, I’m more embarrassed that someone might learn about the end of the last Saiyan Prince. Training? Sure. Right. Improving? Not as a warrior, really. The only thing I’m getting better at is diverting the woman’s attention. I managed to do so just last night and the night before. I think I can do it again, though it remains a challenge. The act keeps my thoughts at bay, and if I can just forget... or at least  _ pretend to forget _ .

 

“How is your progress?”

 

_ Marvelous. _ I now know twelve new ways to fuck a woman, and none have made me go Super Saiyan. Odd, right? Maybe it’s lucky number thirteen. I pretend to ignore the question, kiss the side of her neck instead. 

 

“I need some feedback here. Have you tried today?”

 

“Sure,” I say, and punctuate the word with another kiss. She likes that, and I don't mind either. I just have to get her off the track without her noticing. It’s like any hunt, any fight. Got to make her forget where she wanted to go. Lead her off the path and astray, take her somewhere nice. She’ll like it better there too, once we get there.

 

Yet this time instead of relenting, she pushes me away. “Vegeta, I’m being serious here. We’ve only got a year left, you know!”

 

I snort at her. “What’s this?  _ Now _ you’re worried? I thought ‘ _ Goku’ _ was going to save you all?” The Earth name feels particularly wrong on my tongue, but then I’ve been drinking this poison for near two years. Why balk now? She’s the only one to see me go down, and I can't be bothered to keep up appearances. Not anymore. Not for her.

 

And yet this proves the wrong thing to say. She pushes me back, roughly. Annoyed, I let her. 

 

“Ohmykami. You cannot  _ seriously _ be counting on him. He’s  _ famously _ irresponsible. Oh, he’ll show up for the fight,  _ when _ it suits him. And that’s _ always _ too late for someone I care about.” Bulma drops her pad, stands and then rounds on me, fists on hips. “Listen, the only reason anything ever goes right around here is because of  _ my _ planning. And  _ my _ plan is to have  _ three _ Super Saiyans when these androids show up. Goku, that kid from the future, and  _ you _ .”

,

_ That’s the plan?  _ Oh, don’t get me wrong. I knew this party, this wild ride, was ending and soon. Still I figured that I was the only one heading for a bloody end. Yet that is a silly thing to believe isn’t it? When has my jinx ever  _ not _ rubbed off on those around me? Looks like I’m taking down another planet after all. 

 

“Hah!” I look up at her confused frown, and it only just then sinks in. She’s  _ serious _ . She’s counting on  _ me _ to keep her safe. “Phahahah!” I can't even stop laughing. Oh, what an  _ awesome _ plan! Rely on the Prince of Saiyans, the bringer of death, to come save your ass? Good luck with that.

 

Well, this is rich. I guess that somewhere along the line, I expected the Earth-woman to have figured out a way to cheat death once more. That Kakarot and the vixen’s gang would somehow save the day, even if I didn't see how. But if  _ this _ is the extent of her brilliance, well… I guess we really are all going to die. I wheeze, coming to an awful conclusion. “I’ve seriously overestimated you.”

 

Sadly, she is a little less accepting of fate then I. For the first time in a long while, she looks frightened. “It would work, damn it. We just need superior numbers. Vegeta - stop it! I’m about to become a  _ mother _ , you know. Take this seriously.” The woman is babbling, gives her stomach that odd look again, although her figure still remains the same. When I refuse to stop kackling, she grabs at my hands then topples into the bed on top of me,  unable to move the hands I had clasped around my sides to hold in the pain laughter brings. 

 

As she loses balance, I grab her and lift her up, high above my body as I roll on to my back. “I  _ am _ serious. Look, you can fly now! You’re Superwoman! Now you can go save the world yourself!”  _ Who needs another Super Saiyan _ .

 

“Vegeta! Where’s your ambition? I thought you wanted to be Super Saiyan!”

 

I cackle at her madly. “I’m the Prince of all Saiyans. It is my birthright…” I drop her into my arms and roll until she is beneath me, “to fuck you silly.”

 

She snorts and tries to free herself, tries to find her way back to the notepad she lost in our little altercation. When I don't let her she resorts to sarcasm in her most biting tone. “Oh,  _ good _ you’ve developed a _ sense of humor _ . It’s good to laugh at yourself sometimes.”

 

And with that, she destroys my entire facade. I sigh into the pillow, relenting… That’s me. I’m always  _ laughing _ . My life is a joke, after all. A really long, really bad one. Oh,  _ congratulations, woman, _ you've done it. My good mood is ruined, and I cannot even pretend to have fun anymore.

 

Well, this is some shit-show we're in. Since running lost its appeal a while back, this little piece of news is kind of relevant. Sure, I suppose even a Saiyan prince can find a place to hide amongst the stars, but the standard of living here at Capsule Corp is so ridiculously high that leaving would be quite a downgrade; barely surviving in comparison.

 

Now that I know we’re all going down for sure, I reconsider. I could just grab this awesome pussy and flee into space. But I doubt I could ever convince her to settle in some hovel that I’d have to build myself, with no running water and with only space bugs to eat.. She’d never let me hear the end of it. Hell, I’d be too embarrassed to even suggest it. Damn, and here I thought I’d already hit rock bottom.

 

“Let’s tick off the list again. Did you practice with my robots today?”

 

“Sure…” I mumble into the pillow, not really caring if she can hear me. It’s not a complete lie, and I do appreciate her newest addition to my GR. For what it’s worth. I’m supposed to train with them, because I might have mentioned that pushing myself on my own was becoming difficult. So she wants me to let them shoot at me, and practice evading or attacking them. Incidentally, if you don't turn them on they bounce quite well inside the GR;  if you kick them hard enough then they just keep bouncing and bouncing forever.

 

“Have you tried getting angry?”

 

Ugh. This again. First I needed to calm down, and now that I  _ am _ calm she wants me to practice  _ getting angry _ . She’s separated me from the last thing I had left and now I have to magically resurrect it. It’s  _ gone _ ; my rage is completely spent and it's her fault. I lift my head and level her with my best glare. She has the decency to swallow.

 

“Ok, I know you don't like this one. But next time, bear with me. When you’re training, can you just try imagining pregnant me and your baby dying?”

 

I put my face back into the pillow, wondering if I can suffocate myself with it. Because now that I know the little fool has developed her plan around  _ me _ , I’ve already thought about it. I’ve seen it in my mind’s eye: limbs ripped to pieces, insides smeared, a body inside a body. I need very little imagination for it, because I’ve already seen many such scenes in my past. All I need to do is superimpose her face. Now the image will likely stick in my mind, and I don't even understand why that would bother me. It’s not like I want to have some half-breed brat. In fact, if I did give a fuck I’d probably  _ demand _ she’d kill it now. 

 

What is wrong with me? I’m supposed to have fun for one last year, and all I can do now is hate myself. 

  
  
  
  
  



	36. cut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! special thanks to my betas, over8000 and meganechan. and I hope you guys don mind cliffhangers.  
> also, suicidal triggers? something like that.

 

A small blue moon sparkled in his hands like a half-formed idea, but little more than that. Vegeta stared at it intently and felt it tug at him, a prickling sensation that started at his tail, coursed up his spine and went to his head. Yet it was too weak to cause the transformation, even up close like this.

 

If only he had more power…

 

With a sigh he extinguished the ball and diverted his attention to the bare black horizon, and deliberately away from the party in full swing at his back. What a shame. If this little planet ever had a moon, then it had been destroyed. Although, in all honesty, a moon for this world would have been like a gem for a rotting corpse. What a wasteland! Dark, cold, little vegetation, not even a decent landmark. No wonder these poor creatures were waiting for anything— even Saiyans— to get them off this dirt-hole of a planet. 

 

Of course, the lot of them were in for a rude awakening. Saiyans were no one’s hero. And judging by the sounds that filtered from the raucous celebration, it would be up to the prince to clear up this little misunderstanding himself.

 

Unless Vegeta could find or create something to generate Blutz waves. Then at least Raditz would no longer hesitate to attack, as his Oozaru was still as wild and untamed as the day he was born. Usually a negative, this time the madness would be an advantage. Vegeta knew the twins, as second-class, were also susceptible enough to the blood-rage not to care once they changed to Oozaru. They’d kill the lot of these so-called lesser Saiyans right and fast. 

 

If only there had been a moon... Vegeta wondered if perhaps he could teach the new technique to Nappa; the older Saiyan might have the sheer power to make the artificial moon strong enough. But Nappa really was a simpleton and even with his strength, Vegeta doubted it would be enough. It seemed they’d have to cut down these furballs the hard way.

 

It was a shame really. An artificial moon that could transform Saiyans to Oozaru was something that would revolutionise purging… or would have revolutionized it, had there still been a Saiyan populace to use such a technique. It could have changed the balance of power, could have toppled the Ice-jins, could have finally rendered to Saiyans Lord and master of the galaxy. If only they had managed to cling to life long enough for their Prince to perfect such a technique. 

 

Vegeta was so engrossed in his thoughts that he only heard footsteps when they were right behind him. With a growl, he jumped up from his rock and rounded on the intruder. It was that girl again, Dandelion, the one that had given him the flowers. The flowers he had subversively left on another rock. At least she had not brought more of the stupid things. Her entire demeanor set something off inside of him; some feeling he could not name but would rather not experience again. Her large pointy ears twitched as she wrung her hands in an expression of guilt, sleek black fur shining in the starlight. “My apologies. I had not meant to offend.”

 

With a huff, Vegeta lowered his clenched fists and resumed his seated position on the dusty rock. He turned away deliberately, for she could not possibly pose a threat to him. Nothing on this bare rock could, really. Yet, this pit-stop of a purge mission had him at wits’ end. His Saiyans did not want to fight; hell, if he was honest with himself, he didn't want to fight either. Well, that wasn’t true. He might enjoy hitting someone right now if they’d only _ fight back. _ It was a way to vent frustrations, though a honorless way. Slaughtering creatures that fed you and welcomed you just seemed... Wrong.

 

This left Vegeta and his squad in quite a bind. Even without a purge list that would have them working every hour of every day for decades, PTO administration knew where they were and they had a schedule to meet. They had run purges late before, but right now it didn't look like they’d be leaving ever again without a forceful pickup. 

 

‘ _ Do you have any idea what happens to Saiyans that refuse their purge?’  _ Nion had asked. Truthfully, Vegeta did not have a clue, but it could not be good. When Frieza eventually came looking for them… well, he’d rather not be found partying with the creatures they were supposed to be killing.

 

Of course, the idea of Frieza setting foot on this over-sized monolith had a certain allure. It made for a different plan entirely, one that would require a moon as well. A stupid idea with just eight Saiyans. Yet with eight  _ Oozaru _ , and if they could manage to get Frieza alone? All they would need was a bit of teamwork and a decent ambush. A decent plan...

 

No; that trail of thought was dangerous. Chances of the lizard ever setting foot on this rock were slim anyway. Hell, Frieza would first send some goons to retrieve them. And even if Vegeta and his Saiyans somehow managed to defeat the teams sent after them and posed an actual threat to the PTO, the planet could always be destroyed from space. Destroyed, like Vegeta-sei… but not by meteors. By... Vegeta shook his head. No. Don't even think that.

 

“You have not joined in the festivities.” The girl’s words were soft; it was a statement of fact, not a question. So Vegeta just grunted the affirmative. Of course he had refrained; partying was the last thing on his mind. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered. Perhaps he should just give in, relinquish his command, and let Frieza have his way. But then, what would become of his Saiyans? The only one who possessed the skills to lead was Raditz, and the others would not accept a Low Class leader. Working under some alien commander would not be better for their survival rates either.

 

As for himself, well, Vegeta supposed Frieza would probably keep him safe. Yet even if his pride allowed it, it would obviously mean he would be used in some father-son power play. No, Vegeta would rather stay off King Cold’s radar altogether. Sure, Frieza might think of Saiyans as mere ‘monkeys’, but its father regarded them more like vermin. The only reason that monster had not simply stepped on him and extinguished the Saiyan prince was likely because King Cold was afraid to get its boots dirty. 

 

Of course, pride was very much the issue here. He was the Saiyan prince, damnit. Yes, likely the last one. The end of a lineage. Yet that made the idea —to throw away the memory of his people, to throw away his name— even worse. To let the last prince be reduced to die on nothing but a tyrant’s whim.. The very idea filled him with rage.

 

So his only option was to get on with it and kill these creatures. Yet the girl next to him really was... nice... and the way she blinked her big, lush eyelashes at him made it difficult for the prince to get on with it. “Are our arrangements not to your liking? Have we somehow offended our savior?”

 

_ Savior.  _ Vegeta snarled. “Stop calling me that.”

 

Dandelion cowered back, curtsying down. “We have offended you! I  _ knew _ it!”

 

“No…” Vegeta reigned in his temper with a rare feeling of guilt. “No, the party is great. It’s just the  _ timing _ that’s off.” 

 

She straightened and then tilted her head to the side, her long ears flattening down. “Timing? When else would we feast but at your arrival?”

 

With a mirthless laugh, Vegeta asked. “How about  _ after _ you’ve been saved?”

 

“There’s no need for any of this in paradise.” Dandelion paused, gaze running furtively back to the sound of the party, then returning to him as she stepped closer. “May I?”

 

Vegeta looked up in confusion; the silence between them stretched out. Far in the distance, he could hear the party music and the the boisterous laughs of his men. Vegeta could imagine them eating and sparring and joking. They’d been at it for three days now. Three whole days! Vegeta had seen them at it, and every time he had turned away in disgust. 

 

Sometimes he’d catch Raditz’s eye; the older teen looked worried and confused. Which was bad, because Raditz usually knew what to do. Or Nion would come up and start spouting out proverbs again, but with little conviction behind his words... and usually with a slab of meat clutched in his hand. It was obvious none of his men had any answers; they looked to Vegeta to provide clarity.

 

And yet he could not find it within himself to take action.  

 

Dandelion took his silence as consent and plopped down on Vegeta's rock. She dug around in her pouch, then presented the boy with snacks once more. Meaty little buns, with the most delicious scent. “These are made from Raka, our best animal. She was mine. We slaughtered her for the celebration, for you...”

 

Vegeta swallowed heavily, because that shouldn't matter. It rubbed him the wrong way though, the natives killing their best animals. Did they even have any left?  Were they this sure he’d provide them with salvation? Ridiculous. But he really should just accept the offering. After all, past experience told him that little would be salvageable after a purge. This wonderful feast would be scattered, trampled, covered with mud and blood when their targets finally ran. The food would end up mingled with rotten bodies and putrid insides, bowels emptied in the throes of death...

 

The buns smelled so good, and she looked so sad. And she was  _ so _ pretty. Not like a Saiyan woman, or at least nothing like Kura. So actually Vegeta really shouldn't think she was pretty at all. Still, she was just so much more... Female. Kura, the only woman on his team of Saiyans, was as callous and hard as his men. This girl was soft and sensitive, and he knew that should make her seem alien and weird to Saiyan eyes. Yet he was not revolted at all.

 

With a sigh Vegeta gave in, took one of the sweet buns and bit into it. It was good, really good — although that might have been his hunger talking. When he made an appreciative sound and took two more, Dandelion’s face split in the most radiating smile, and he did not regret humoring her. It was so odd; looking at her made him feel... Good. Happy, even.

 

That was the most disturbing of all. Vegeta had always found all aliens to be equally disgusting. Then again he really could not say that he preferred the company of Saiyans... Saiyans were smelly, hairy, and lacking in personal hygiene. Not to mention the god-damn  _ shedding _ ... Everyone said so, and he knew it to be true. Vegeta likely was the only decently cultured Saiyan that had ever existed.

 

Did Dandelion shed? He could not imagine her making a mess. Her clean and well groomed fur shone with a bluish hue. She had a small, sharp nose, and her chest made the most graceful arc from her from her neck to the base of her tail. She was beautiful; she even sounded beautiful as she squealed and fidgeted next to him. When she brought her face level to his, Vegeta noticed that her sharp teeth were clean and white and her breath fresh with a hint of sweetness to it.

 

“I am so excited.” Dandelion said with a smile. Her ears rose up and displayed the soft pink skin inside. “That the time is upon us. That paradise is upon us.”

 

Spell broken, Vegeta groaned. Trying to keep his voice level, if only not to scare her again, he said, “I wish you’d stop saying that. We Saiyans are strong, true... but as for saving you…”

 

She cocked her head to one side, blue sparkling eyes as big as saucers. “The prince himself doubts?”

 

He looked away with a long sigh. How to explain to this… girl? “We were sent to this planet, but we were not sent here to... save you…”

 

One look back at Dandelion made him avert his gaze again, because the amount of trust displayed there had no place on the face of someone he was going to kill. Vegeta listened to her voice and almost cringed. “But you will do so, because you are  _ Saiyan _ . The Saiyan Prince. You were promised to us, and we have waited _ a thousand years. _ ”

 

“Look here, girl.” Vegeta tried for anger, but it somehow fell short. “Your people have it wrong. Saiyans are warriors, true. And powerful. But we really don’t go around the galaxy _ saving _ anyone.”

 

Dandelion nodded, her eyes glazed over, deep in thought. “You doubt yourself. But we know you will save us in the end.” She smiled at him again, scooted closer still so their knees nearly touched. She whispered conspiratorially: “Will you accept my help?”

 

Help? What in Cold’s name made her think she could help? Vegeta’s thoughts cut off sharply as she moved in even closer. He noticed her lips, so much like Saiyan lips, and yet so different. Her face was smooth, her breath soft, too soft for a Saiyan’s. She moved closer still, head tilting to the side, lips inches apart…  Vegeta swallowed, confused but unable to move. 

 

Then, he felt the pain. He screamed, cursed. “Bitch, what did you do?” 

 

Vegeta jumped up, staggering a little. His back was on fire, it burned and throbbed. He skidded back and fell into a defensive crouch. With one hand, he felt at his back, under his armor. His hand came back red with blood.

 

Dandelion slowly rose to her feet; she held up a thin, short blade that gleamed with an eerie light. Her smile, however, was near ecstatic. “I am _helping_.”

 


	37. wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> boots was made for walking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks as always to my betas, meganechan and over8000.
> 
> ps, sorry dear readers. because this is a double story the clinghanger continues to hang.. didn't think of that?

Did you know, human, that on Earth the seasons follow each other like clockwork? That you can tell the time of year and how much time that has passed simply by looking at the hour the sun rises, its height at its apex, and average temperature during the day? Well, I suppose you did. It never ceases to amaze me, however. 

 

Summer fades to brown and grey, and now autumn has set in because apparently that’s what the Earth does. Your years are divided in four parts: winter, spring, summer and autumn. I don't know if that happens on other planets because I never stuck around long enough to notice - but it’s fucking _ convenient, _ isn’t it? Like a little clock ticking away in the background, giving you live updates on how much time you have left. Tick tock, tick tock.. Less than a year to go… Tick Tock.

 

“Some tea, dear?” The mother gushes at me. Happy as always, even this early in the morning. Daughter and father take after each other in that they are nothing like this. They nurse their coffee with bleary eyes, not even able to focus before their second cup. Then again, the woman and I kept each other up most of the night. I wonder what the old man’s excuse is.

 

I shrug. “And more of the pastries, too.” I mean, I might as well.

 

The ditz is ecstatic, places assorted plates before me. “I’m so glad to have a man around that appreciates good cooking. That’s my Bulma! Knows a man when she sees one, ey?”

 

Her suggestions make me feel somewhat uncomfortable. Does she know what’s going on between her daughter and me? I’ve been nothing but discreet. Did Bulma tell? It’s not inconceivable; as unwise as it is to spill such a dirty secret, the woman is definitely more open about such matters than I. But I try not to let it bother me, for who cares about the opinions of earthlings? Not me. 

 

The mother’s comments do rouse that blue bed-head from her stupor, and she unsteadily focusses her gaze at me. “Might be indulging a bit too much, Vegeta. I think you might be getting pudgy there.”  

 

Right. Probably, but what does it matter? I shove two more of the baked goods into my mouth and give her a side-long stare. She only sighs as I work my way through the pastries and assorted confections, starting with one from each platter. She just stares, slowly downs her last coffee, then asks: “Are you even still trying?”

 

“Trying what?” I ask, without bothering to swallow. Crumbs fall from my mouth. That doesn’t  matter to me either. 

 

Bulma sighs again. “What do you do in that Gravity Room all day, anyways?”

 

Now, I do swallow. _ I lie on the floor and think about when I get to fuck you again. _ There isn’t much else to do, really. She works all day, so bothering her is apparently ‘not appreciated’. Sometimes, I use her bots to train. I turn up the gravity as far as I dare, and pretend to care enough to get out of the way when they shoot at me. Sometimes, I forget to move. Sometimes I tell myself the pain of a good hit will get me off my ass. That it would remind me of who I am, what I  _ need to do. _ Yet all it does is give me a reason to interrupt her work and get her to bandage me up.

 

I shouldn't let it bother me. Shouldn’t let any of it bother me. But now this - coming from her no less. All of this was her idea, wasn’t it? I know, I’m not cut out for this. I was never cut out for any of this. I'm a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Not proverbially, I came here to kill you all and probably eat you as well; I never looked too close at the meats Nappa roasted over our fire. Yet I’ve been letting the sheep feed me tea and confections while I fuck their daughter… uhg. I’m more of a parasite at this point and it eats at me from the inside. 

 

A little cupcake crumbles to pieces in my hand. “What do you care, woman?”

 

She places a hand over the slight bump of her stomach, gives me a wry smile.  “I think I’ve shown by now that I care quite a bit. And I’ve done everything I can to help you become a Super Saiyan. But you.. you’ve given up, haven’t you?”

 

She’s hardly showing, but the idea of her pregnancy fills me with dread. It’s there, inside of her, growing. I leap to my feet and growl at her. “That stupid  _ growth _ proofs  _ nothing! _ ”

 

Bulma frowns, like she does almost all the time now, and admonishes me. “Oh dear, and I thought you  _ promised _ not to care.”

 

I don't. I hope it dies. At least, before I have to meet it. I hope she cuts it out soon before she gets all fat and ugly like those mammals that bare young without gestation chambers usually do. Before the little pest  _ kills _ her.

“Perhaps this was a mistake. The dwarfism and scowl are probably hereditary,” she quips, slowly shakes her head and leans back in her chair. “And possibly the personality disorders too... I think maybe if I was set on a half-alien child, I should have talked to Chi-chi about a procuring a _ genetically sound specimen. _ ” 

 

Oh, the goading. It gets worse every day. I spare the mother a glance, but she quickly turns back to her cooking. The father mumbles, picks up his coffee and leaves. Good enough. It is perhaps time for a little heart to heart with the woman. I point at her belly. “That  _ thing _ is a mistake,” I agree. “Get rid of it already.”

 

“No take-backs, Vegeta. This baby is  _ mine, _ remember?”

 

“Fine, You do what you want. _And I’ll do what I want._ ” I shrug then sit back down after grabbing another assortment of snacks. There’s less than a year left before the androids come to kill us all, so I think we all deserve our little delusions before death. Right? If she thinks having a baby right now is a good idea...  “Like I said, I don't care.”

 

She glares at me through lowered eyelashes, deep in thought as she pokes at me again. “You know Vegeta, this defeatism doesn't look good at you at all.”

 

The sweets turn ashen in my mouth. Bulma is right, of course. I’m not a wolf, just a stupid dog with a thick skull. Kick it a few times, and it learns not to chew on the furniture. Sure, I still dream of tearing this place to pieces and dancing on everyone’s corpses. But it’s just a dream, something to fantasize about before sleep claims me. I won't do it. Not even on the last day before the androids. Not because I don't want to, but because I don't have it in me.

 

I’ve done it again; let them tame me. Like before, when I stopped believing. How disgusting. I swallow, realising. “I need to get out of here.”

 

I had not meant to say it out loud, but she hears me. “Yes. perhaps that would be for the best.”

 

She shrugs at my shocked expression. Her stare slides down to her coffee, as she seems to come to some decision that was probably in the making for a long time. “I think you  _ should _ leave. I think that might be best.”

 

“What?” She can’t kick me out. She can’t! I can’t... Where would I go? Then I squint at her in realization.. “You’re trying to manipulate me, aren't you? Trying to make you do what you want.”

 

She sighs, slowly. “I’m trying to  _ help _ you, Vegeta. It is a different thing, not that you’d notice. But you’ve given up. You probably gave up a long time ago, didnt you? I just didn't notice. And now, perhaps we really  _ are _ just holding you back.”

 

I lean forward, my hands on the table and stare down at her. I know  _ all _ about helping. I’m about to give her a piece of my mind when she cuts me off. “When did it happen, Vegeta? When did you first give up? Was it during the first week, when you didn't make the transformation? Or before, perhaps, back when you died on Namek. Or, perhaps even...”

 

Teeth bared, I shout over her. “I don't  _ need you _ ! You need  _ me _ . Remember I could end you, end you all!”

 

“Really, is that a threat, or would you like to stake your  _ honor _ on that? I suppose, personally, I could not stop you, but I think I know a certain Saiyan...”

 

“Fuck you. Maybe I  _ will _ go. I hope you all die.”

 

“Ok.” she slaps a hand on the table and straightens up, like that settles things. Like we’ve come to some form of agreement. 

 

“OK?!”

 

“You can come back once you straighten yourself out.” Suddenly Bulma is all smiles again. She releases the mug in front of her with a friendly, relieved smile and sits back, like that’s the end of that. What the  _ fuck? _ “Come and see me then. Come see your son, ok?”

 

“He’s not  _ my _ son.”

 

“Yes he is.” She smiles again, but this time it’s like she’s won a prize.  “And remember, Vegeta, we’re family now. I do hope you’ll come back to us.”

 


	38. end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> too beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my betas, meganechan and over8000.   
> bv4ever- hope it starts making sense now.. else you'll have to wait another whole week ;)

The girl stood slouched, smiling weakly, but the knife in her hand she held up in triumph. Vegeta’s blood dripped from it, dark in the starlight. “I am helping,” she sang and then looked back at him, wide-eyed with a needy smile like she expected him to... like she expected to be _ praised.  _

 

_ Calm down. Calm down. _ A wound like this would not kill him. Vegeta knew that. He’d suffered far worse, and not even required a healing tank. Then why was his mind racing? Why was the wound throbbing... cold-hot... what was that strange feeling, prickling like fire, goosebumps breaking out…? The young Saiyan powered up, formed a blast in his hand.  _ Kill. _ Protect self. Eliminate threat...  

 

The girl noticed the attack in Vegeta’s hand and straightened. She let out a shuddering breath, and watched unblinking as he ki cast her in a blue light. Only when Vegeta lifted it above his head did she break, thrusting out a hand. “Wait, please wait!”

 

He didn't understand why he heeded her. Perhaps because it felt like a last request, not a respite. Or, perhaps it was the vertigo that threatened to claim him. Maybe he’d only meant to blink his eyes, yet when he’d fought his heavy lids open Vegeta found Dandelion with her blade in her own arm. She stabbed it deep in the crook of her elbow, a soft but sure expression on her face. “Do you feel that? Do you feel that? Paradise is coming, my sweet prince! You have brought us salvation at last!”

 

He felt sick, like he was going to puke. Instead, he raised a hand and relit his ki. Wait. “Did you...” Something was wrong. Something about his sluggish reaction, although his heartbeat was picking up now. It felt like he was rising up into the air, anticipating the drop. Just around the corner. “Did you poison me?”

 

The girl laughed, clearly mad from  the effects of whatever had been on her knife. Ater a moment she stilled and stepped forward, one furry hand open towards him. “I am ready, my prince. My savior. That we may soon meet again, in paradise.”

 

Dandelion took another step, closing the distance between them, and stretched out her arm. She reached out her furry hand towards his cheek almost lovingly. An arm's length away, a hand, the a finger's breadth. Vegeta released his attack.

 

Three gulping breaths later, he stared down at her charred remains and could no longer deny. He was poisoned. Something inside was spreading. Was he... dying? Did that  _ fucking bitch _ kill him? Snarling, Vegeta turned back to the party and ignored his skewed senses turning the ground end over end. If he was going to die, he’d take as many with him as he could.

 

A heavy march brought him to the gathering’s center. Saiyans and furry Lessers danced, drank, and laughed. The music was loud to his ears, and suddenly Raditz was on him like a fly. Buzzing. Buzzing... “I  _ knew  _ something was up. Are you alright?”

 

No, he fucking was not alright. His blood thundered in his ears, louder and faster still than the beat from the music. Yet for some reason, that made Vegeta grin. “Get back to your pod. Get everyone in their pods.”

 

Raditz paused, mouth left agape. “No, wait... That’s exactly what happened when -” 

 

“Nappa!” Vegeta roared. Of all the responses,  _ ‘no’ _ was NOT the one he would accept from a subordinate. Not right now, definitely not now. Show no weakness. Vegeta jabbed a threatening finger towards the other teen, eyes threatening the big elite in the same breath. “Get this third-class fool into his pod! Get everyone into his pod right  _ now _ !”

 

The beat dropped, the music stopped, and every creature in the clearing looked his way. His Saiyans stood in shock; the furry things still looked eerily pleased, frozen with trays and canters in offering. Wicked things. Backstabbing little snakes. Vegeta pinched his expression into a fraction of the contempt they all deserved. It took a lot of effort.

 

“NOW!” he roared again. And finally, mercifully, his squad started to move. Nappa caught Raditz by the elbow, the teen hollored bloody murder. He almost broke free and made his way back to Vegeta several times. That was odd. Raditz might have been opinionated for a third class, but he usually knew better than to argue with a direct order. Besides, all his Saiyans surely could understand… understand it was time to go. Right? Again, Vegeta had to fight the smile that threatened to take over his features. 

 

He haughtily stared at his Saiyans, hard and cold, as they picked themselves and their discarded equipment up and started to move. Some grumbled under their breath, like Jack, commented about “getting stuck into a bloody pod again for Cold knows how long.” Yet they obeyed. All except Raditz, who he could still hear screaming up a panicked storm at Nappa. But Raditz had no chance against the elite, so his voice was fading away; the pair was probably at the pod landing site by now. It was all very funny. Funny and nice and fuzzy and warm.

 

Finally after too much time, Vegeta was the only one left at the clearing, surrounded by the furry creatures. He smiled at them. They smiled back. That didn't seem odd at all. And, really, why was he angry at them again? They had been such  _ good _ hosts. Didn’t he owe them something in return? Shouldn’t he show them something pretty before he left? Well, he couldn’t let them live, of course. Fireworks it was.

 

Again, Vegeta lit up his ki and made the biggest, strongest, shiniest ball of living energy he could muster. It was so beautiful, and Vegeta felt an odd sense of accomplishment as the creatures murmured sounds of awe and appreciation. Of course, even this attack lacked the strength to destroy all these creatures at once. It would need a catalyst for that. Yet it was dense enough so the teen could push it into the ground, down and down. And at the planet’s core, so Vegeta had heard, a ball such as this would cause a chain reaction of destruction.

 

Vegeta had never destroyed a planet before, but the principle was simple. The burning center of a planet didn't really need much to destabilize. He’d have some explaining to do to Frieza for destroying the entire planet instead of purging it for market, but this barren place really was just an ugly rock. It would not fetch much of a price anyway.

 

The raging ball of ki descended, sliding into the earth like a knife, and Vegeta marveled at the mesmerizing beauty of it. His intake of breath chorused with that of the creatures, and then they started to sing again. It was... It was beautiful. Somewhere in the back of his mind something screamed at him. It screamed that he was not thinking straight, that it was the poison talking. Yet the young Saiyan had stopped caring, had stopped listening to that voice.

 

That stunning ball of ki slid deep inside the little planet, melted and merged with its insides, and pulsed to the beat of the song that surrounded him. Something soft and hot answered from within the core, from the small dark hole his ki had disappeared into. Then it lit up, and the rumble that followed was deafening. Yet also, again, it was a lovely sound. It drowned out the singing that warred with it in a crescendo, then seemed to intertwine with it as the planet’s crust sharted to shake in waves, moving up and down like the sea. And it felt so good.  _ So _ good.

 

Finally the crust began to crumble, like a ration bar in water but so slowly, ever so slowly. Rocks split, and from between them fissures of red burning light appeared. Broken off crust and dust moved up into the air, up into thin space. Some of the hairy creatures fell into the fissures to drownin hot molten lava. Others flew up on their own little chunks of rocks; Vegeta supposed they must have stopped singing, but their music still rung in his ears. 

 

A final, deafening roar came and Vegeta’s own piece of rock sped upwards, up and away. It happened impossibly fast, fixing him in place. The young Saiyan laughed at the thrill it brought him, finally quieting in awed confusion as he slowed down, then came loose from his footing and  floated away. For a moment, he expected to drop back down, but the planet had become nothing more than a nebula of dust and lacked the gravity to pull him back in. So Vegeta floated, again trying to remember what the big deal was. Something about oxygen, and cold, and needing a ki-shield. Yet the cold felt nice, good on his skin, and he really didn't think he needed to breathe. 

 

The little Oozarus floated with him in space, some dead, crushed on their way up, or burned by lava. Still, many lived; their happy faces turned towards him, and they waved at him. The beautiful, red light from the explosions made their fur shine and glow. Vegeta waved back to one, confused when it popped; exploded in red blood. Ah, of course... that was from the sudden lack of pressure, Vegeta realised, when he looked down athis frostbitten hand. It did not hurt, but...

 

_ That’s right. Remember to breathe out, _ Vegeta told himself, and raised his ki to keep himself warm. He didn't want to miss a moment of this; this sheer, beautiful end. Ah, if only he could have seen the end of Vegeta-sei. It must have looked similar to this. It must have been  _ pretty _ .

 

Such pretty lights, such pretty creatures floating through the vacuum. Beautiful, wonderful. Frozen stones and organs and... Nice. And, oh look there was Raditz. In his pod. Such a pretty shape, the pods. Round. A perfect sphere. Ah, dear sweet Raditz. Had he come to see the end with him? Vegeta waved at him, grinning ear to ear. Good old Raditz. Who needed a brother when Vegeta had him? And Raditz had him. It was awesome.

 

When Raditz’s pod opened, Vegeta got a look at the older teen’s expression and he did not look happy at all. Just grim and full of determination. Vegeta gave him a confused look, tried to inquire what was wrong. He wanted to ask if Raditz didn't like his beautiful light show, but  he’d already expelled all breath and in this empty space his words could not have travelled anyway.

 

Then Raditz reached for his hand and started to pull him into the pod. _ No!  _ N _ onono! _ Vegeta hadn’t seen the end yet! He wouldn't be able to appreciate it in full glory through the glass. Vegeta didn't want to go inside; he wasn't ready! 

 

The prince fought against the other teen, but his movements had become sluggish and weak. Perplexed, Vegeta turned back to look at the beautiful destruction he had wrought. He had been so strong, just minutes ago... What had happened? Why was he so cold? Had Raditz somehow become stronger? It didn't matter. He just wanted to see the end, but his eyes weren’t working so well. Everything had become dark, unfocused. 

 

Vegeta didn't get it. Not even when something closed around him, and a whirring noise finally pierced through the silence that had enveloped him like a blanket. He tried to blink, tried to see that beauty again, but his eyes no longer worked and he was completely numb. “Breathe,” he heard a familiar voice say. Yet Vegeta lacked the strength and wasn’t really sure he wanted to anyway.

  
  
  



	39. 39 burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile, back in the present...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my betas over8000 and meganechan,  
> and to QueenOfVikingSloths for that awesome cool review. thank yououou!

Space is an empty place, aptly named after its distinct lack of things. It’s just a hollow shell that looks like something grand from a distance but as soon as you get close, there’s very little there. Cold and freezing; a nothingness filled with short bursts of fire that will kill you as surely as the lack of anything in between. Seems like the fitting place for me. 

 

Time blends into a seamless and endless thing, as empty and as dead as space. I spend my days or nights throwing punches and kicks the the hum of the engines powering my spaceship’s GR. There’s no way to tell time so I just keep going until I get tired or hungry. I extrapolate days from the number of meals eaten, but at some point I lose both count and appetite. All that is left is an bleak, amorphous emptiness. 

 

The sluggishness seems to take over all my senses, like a blanket is covering my face and my fingers... everything. I strip bare to train, determined to push through. Yet nothing helps. I only end up shivering like I’m cold, though I usually work hard enough to heat the entire craft. I know this is a bad sign, that I might just be at the end of my reserves. Still I know I have yet to work out for my bare minimum of hours, and I refuse to lower the number of G’s. That would be too much like going backward, like turning down the pressure now would somehow undo all the hard work that led me up to this point. Yet the shaking gets worse and I feel faint; I wonder if something is wrong with the lights, as it suddenly feels so dark around me. I’m reasonably sure I was doing pushups, but when I find myself plastered to the floor I decide on a nap instead.

 

I wake up an undetermined time later with the G’s set back to standard; probably one of the woman’s fail-safes. Then it finally hits me; I wish I hadn’t run away. I’ve never ran from anything before. Guess I needed death for me to finally show my true colors, or perhaps I’d just never had the opportunity. Bloody coward.

 

I drag myself towards the onboard kitchenette, not because I am hungry but because I feel empty. This is not a good feeling, and it would be best to eat it away if I can. The rations are decent enough, better by far than PTO fare. Yet I can hardly taste through the blanket that has enveloped even my taste buds. 

 

And suddenly, she’s there; her face blown up to giant proportions on my pilot desk screen. where my navigation chart and constellation read-outs had been. I wonder at my sanity for a few seconds, before Bulma’s voice breaks the spell, and I realise it’s a recording. Of course it is, because I’m out so far it would be not possible to have a live conversation, and I’m not one for seeing ghosts.

 

“Things have gotten pretty boring since you left…” Bulma starts, and then proceeds to give me a moment-to-moment account on all that’s transpired since I left: absolutely nothing. She must be losing her mind from boredom, because a large portion of her story is about her mother’s gardening efforts which she has apparently joined in. I’m done eating long before she’s done talking, and I sit staring at the screen while she rambles on about uprooting vagrant daffodils. Whatever those are.

 

I’ve almost convinced myself she’s sorry and that she’s asking me back. Yet just like that, she bursts my bubble: “I’ll see you once you’ve done it. Come back once you’re a Super Saiyan, ok?” Bulma ends her message with a smile and a V-finger sign, and I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive her.

 

A few days later, I remember why I ran. Seriously, can you blame me? I think this is the time to just admit the woman is completely mental. Mental in the most impossible way; logic-defying insane. She is not Frieza-mental, however. Sure, the lizard would change what he wanted from one day to the next, whenever It considered it time to play a new game. At least its actions came from a well thought out plan that lead to the desired consequences. Bulma, to my dismay, does not adhere to the principle of action born from purpose at  _ all _ . This seems inconsistent, for a scientist should thrive off well-versed logic. Regardless, she does not let this concept apply to herself at all. Because she  _ is _ completely inconsistent. Random.

 

She told me to leave, didn't she? She was quite adamant about it. Even before that, her working hours were holy; off-territory for me. But lo and behold, now she starts to bombard me with constant messages. Soon enough I find myself timing my meals her messages. I take a break at the beeb of a new incoming, and finish eating just as she wraps her trivial tale. 

 

Yet a few days later, matters get worse. She finishes with her story right on time, and I drop my plates at the sink for a drone to clean and get back to training. I’ve only done two katas before  _ her next message reaches me.  _

 

“Vegeta, you would not believe what just happened!” Her voice is too loud and too high, and I freeze mid-motion. I don't  _ care _ what she has to say, but it's got to be pretty bad for her to act like this. Fucking Kami, why call me I'm literally light-years away? Not like I can do anything out here, so why come to me? But then she breaks in with a wide grin. “Scratch was lying on my lap and the baby must have felt it because it kicked! Kicked so hard that Scratch just jumped into the air and bolted!”

 

Bulma continues the story for another five minutes, about kicking babies and other inconsequential stuff. When the screen blinks off I’m standing with my legs planted firmly, completely out of focus, and struggling to stay upright in the heavy gravity. Seriously, is she trying to distract me to death? I was lucky the settings were still low. One slip at max G and I’d be reduced to a meaty pancake on the floor. For the first time I near forget I am listening to pre-recorded messages, and growl at the console, once again filled with star maps and constellations. “Woman..,” yet I leave the sentence unfinished, realising the folly of threatening a recording.

 

After a few botched attempts I finally get my concentration back. Finally, the flow returns. I get a decent workup in, and I’m halfway pleased with myself when I wind down for my cool-down. This time, when the screen blinks and it’s  _ her face again _ , I scream.

 

What the fuck is her problem? Since the start of our odd little liaison, she told me not to bother her during working hours because she was  _ too busy _ . Yet I’ve realized the time between messages is now less than her usual twelve hour working day. Probably less than eight, which she claimed was the bare minimum.

 

The next days is an ongoing spiral of madness. The messages must be live updates, by how often they reach me. “The baby kicked again. He’s so strong!” Bulma gives another smile and keeps on talking. She pulls out some fuzzy black and white photos that are apparently the baby but look more like a nightmare space-worm to me. Then she goes on to tell me all about how she’s  _ feeling,  _ what she did at work today; everything she’s done. I’m not interested, but there’s no way to shut her off. I cant blast the screen - I’d be unable to navigate without it - and there’s no off button.

 

The next message finds me resting on the pallet with a blanket. I’d just drifted off when she starts in with a “Hi, I couldn't sleep.” I jump to a sitting position and rub at my eyes as she drones on. In real life I’d have missed my chance by now, but it’s a recording so I yell: “I don't  _ care! _ ”

 

She’s driving me up a wall! Sending me messages seems to have become her obsession. “I have these back cramps that keep coming back...”

 

I take a look at the screen. Bulma sits in a darkened room, pushed against the back of her desk chair. The curtains are drawn, but I doubt there’s any light outside. She wears some kind of loose dress, because I doubt any of her usual wardrobe would fit by now. 

 

“It’s probably because you’re _ fat _ .” I talk over her as she continues on, oblivious. “Why don’t you go exercise or something? You look like a fucking space-whale. Yuck.” 

 

The woman probably thinks I should be happy to have the constant drudgery of my days broken. I’m not. But her messages do serve to make me remember why I’m out here. And, why I was upset with the woman. Seriously, what is she playing at? We’re  _ family _ now? What the fuck? It was  _ her _ baby right? I was  _ not supposed to get attached _ , right? Well, I’m not, and we’re  _ not _ family. Come back to Earth? Fuck her! I lost my family when I was eight, and to be perfectly honest, it was a load off my back.

 

The next morning - or whatever time it is - at breakfast, I hear the telltale noise of the incoming message and I nearly throw my bowl of slushed rations at the screen. “Stop fucking bothering me!” I holler at her, though I know she can’t hear me. 

 

At least my brain tells me she cannot, but her tear-stricken face suggests something else. “Hi. I’m feeling a little down. Didn't really get any sleep. Yeah, you knew that right? Big day at work. Yeah...” She sniffles all the way, a completely fake smile on her face that tears at the seems as her lips quiver. 

 

I turn away, pulling my nose up. “Stop fucking calling. What? You think the waterworks work on me? I’m immune to that shit.”

 

She takes a shaky breath before continuing. “Anyway, just wanted to let you know I’m alright. Baby’s getting close now, but…”

 

“I. Dont. Care. Stop calling me!” I didn't even notice getting to my feet, didn’t notice walking towards her. Towards the screen. Just a screen. Just a recording. But it’s almost like she heard me, because she smiles that fake smile one more time, and the message stops. 

 

And no messages follow. At first, I figure she’s finally gone back to her dead-end job thing. Wasting her time on someone else, at least until she gets home from wherever she goes. So, I buckle down hard and try for new heights at training. I’m determined to get as much done as I can before she’s back with her nagging. 

 

When I wake up on the floor tiles in a puddle of drool and sweat, I realise that she finally gave me some serious time to myself. I’m really thankful, for she was driving me mad. Yet after a meal and another full session of training, I cannot help think it is… odd?

 

The hours tick by slowly and uneventfully, and slowly I start getting tense. How much time since her last message? More than a day, maybe more than two? It becomes hard to concentrate, because I don't get it. Is this some kind of devious trick? No, that doesn't sound like her. I’ve seen her inside-out, and there’s not a mean bone in her body. Crazy, yes. Suicidal, obviously. But not mean.

 

Did I lose track of time so badly that the androids have arrived already and I missed it? I run through her old messages in my database, checking the timestamps. After a few calculations, I prove to myself time has not gotten away from me that much. There should still be about half a year left.

 

I try and get a few hours of sleep in, but it’s impossible. I’m not worried; it’s the mystery that’s eating at me. I recheck the times on her video-messages against my computer clock. It’s now three days without any sign of life, and there’s only one conclusion.

 

She’s dead. Probably. Maybe the androids showed early. Maybe she just fell down some stairs. I don't know, she’s so weak anything could have killed her.. Anyone, anything and everything.

 

Yet I stay where I am, glued to my chair as I replay her messages over and over... I’ve lost it, finally snapped. That’s the only explanation. What am I looking for? A hint of what happened to her? I can guess, can’t I?

 

Pregnancy. What kind of idiot species tries to bring their young to term anyway? Here’s the word  of advice: never look up ‘birth complications’. My on-board internet database had some rather graphic images of that. Seriously, the amount of things that can go wrong with human birth is staggering. Was it the same for Saiyans? Probably. Gestation chambers were there for a reason. 

 

What am I doing? What am I even doing here? Why did I come here? I hate space. I hate spaceships too. They are too small; the walls are closing in on me. Why? I’ve never had this problem before and this ship is actually pretty big. At least I can move around. It can’t be those images either. I’ve seen worse. Yet I feel like I’m suffocating. I spend a confused few minutes looking for a hose to put me into Cryo sleep, but there’s nothing like that on board. Nothing to calm me. I need to get out. 

 

I scout for some sort of landing site, anything out there to at least keep me busy. But it’s space, so as usual, there’s nothing. No planets, no moons. Not even a comet.

 

When I finally find a meteor cluster with some atmosphere I am well aware that going outside is a bad idea. Yet drifting alone for months has come to a sudden uncontrolled head and I  _ have _ to get out. There’s nothing else within weeks of here. I have to get out  _ now _ .

 

It’s a shame about the woman, really. She did have some qualities, hidden behind layers of stupidity and annoyance. Also she took me in, gave me food. Good food; you can always tell someone’s quality by the food they give you. Did you know? You can trust someone that gives you good food.

 

I wonder if she went down quietly. She had been giant, weak, and teary in her last message. Still I’d have expected her to go out like a supernova; bright and angry. All those soft weak smiles were fake, you know? They’d have flaked off of her like a layer of varnish before the end. I can’t really imagine it any other way.

 

What am I doing out here anyway? Oh. That’s right.... So, in the end it didn't work. So, I never got to be Super Saiyan. Whatever. Doesn't matter. I should have stayed dead the first time, so all of this; this hell-on-literal-earth would have been unnecessary. And this - this little space-trip? Stupid. Dragging it out, as always. Just finding a way to die more pathetically. Earth was just there to show me what I could never have. Now I can die alone, out in space, the last of my kind.

 

It’s a shame about the unborn brat too. Although I thought the woman a fool when she told me she meant to keep it. Well, that was likely what did her in, but it didn't seem wrong that she’d have it at the time. Just stupid and pointless, but then everything is. Did it just snuff out too? What a waste. Not that the ki I felt from the unborn child had been special. Not by a longshot. 

 

Yet look at Kakarot’s whelp. He turned out good enough, I suppose. Perhaps I shouldn't put too much stock in power levels at birth. Kakarot would never even have  _ survived _ the nurseries. Not between the gangs, the shortages, the starving stragglers that followed you around... No, he got sent to a planet for a reason. There was only a slightly better chance of survival for those babies, but I guess he won the lottery with Earth.

 

Pathetic. What made me think coming here was a good idea? The meteor is surrounded by debris, and when the rock cloud around me thickens I soon spend every moment trying to protect my ship with my bare hands. As for the air I thought was out here... It's too thin; I can't breathe. Wait. ah, now I remember.

 

I’m committing suicide. That’s it. Come on, why would  _ this _ turn me Super Saiyan? When did I even have any survival instincts left? Frieza took that from me; I shouldn't have let him. But I didn't care. Besides, it was the only way to live.. Weird, right? Survive by not caring whether you live or die, but that’s how it worked. So, by default, it is impossible for me to rise up to this challenge. I have no motivation. Sure, my lungs scream out for air, my skin cries from the cold. My knuckles abhor my relentless use of them. But my mind? Doesn't give a fuck.

 

They say evil creatures such as me are erased in death, their souls cleansed until no identity remains, their spirit-power used to make new souls for the newly born. That might be hard. What would they get rid of? I don't even have my anger left to me. Perhaps I lost my soul at my first death, and I’ve been an empty shell since my reincarnation. But that would be funny too because no one even noticed the difference; death didn't change me at all. So? Yeah. I’ll just burn out here. Without anyone to know. That used to scare me, but now I can't find any reason not to.

 

It’s become impossible to keep my arms up in anything resembling a guard, and whatever ki shield I had has long since winked out. My feet touch the hull of the spacecraft and I nearly fall off. There’s something big heading my way, an asteroid near as large as the one I’ve landed on. I just blink up at it, watching it grow bigger and bigger as it moves to flatten me and my spaceship. Squashed like a bug between two stellar hands clapping.

 

Some fucking chosen one. Chosen for what? I guess if you fail enough times you just get really good at  _ failing _ . Strongest in a thousand years, but still a nothing. Hell, there’s three Saiyans left in all the galaxy and _ two  _ are Super, yet I cannot do it. So? At least I’m not needed. I’ll just close my eyes and rest. Last of my kind, and just disappear without a trace.

 

What? Kakarot? He’s not a  _ Saiyan _ . He doesn't know about war or the thrill of a kill. Look what he turned his own son into. A human. A soft, sweet, human. And the purple haired mystery brat is hardly any better. Well, at least  _ my _ son got saved from that fate. 

 

Then again, if my son is not dead, I’m sure Kakarot will try to turn him as well. Him and the banshee can adopt the brat, with Bulma dead. They’ll turn it soft and sweet. Like one of those.. what did she call them? Yes. a strawberry. He’ll be a little strawberry, and people will _ laugh.  _ Because neither of his parents had the strength to stick around when the going got tough. 

 

I fucking _ hate _ my father.

 

No. I refuse. On principle. Kids should hate their parents  _ because  _ they don’t sod off and die. And what? I’m going to deny my own son the joy of knowing what a bastard sired him just because of some, some.. “Some fucking asteroid?!”

 

It’s coming right my way, a giant rock. Exactly like what I pictured had destroyed my planet;  when I believed that lie for all those years. “Well, you? You’re fake. You’re never destroyed the Saiyans, that was Frieza.”

 

And now this fucking meteor thinks it can stop  _ me _ ? What? Because I fell for the lie? It’s heading right at me. And, I have the  _ best  _ idea. “Let’s play chicken, rock.”

 

I head for it, it heads for me. It occurs to me that a meteor couldn't change course even if it wanted to. But instead of discouraging me, the thought just lights me up, like a real star. Frieza always did say I was stubborn as a rock... Maybe I’ll prove more stubborn yet, turn this meteor to dust. 

 

Or, I’ll turn to stardust myself. I’ve got nothing to lose now, right?

 

“Come back…”

 

_ How did she fucking dare..?  _ Come back to _ what?  _ She’s gone. She has to be. Uuugh. It annoys me to no end. I’m so mad. I’m raging. At her, at myself at... this rock. Somehow, it’s all this meteor’s fault. I don't _ care _ that that makes no sense. But I’m going to  _ kill _ this rock. I’m going to smash it into a thousand pieces.. And..

 

I’ve passed it. Right through. Cant.. didn't even feel it. Wonder if I missed it, somehow, but when I look back to my spaceship, it’s still parked, but unbelievably far away.. The rock that should be heading towards it.. is destroyed. And everything.. Everything moves so slow.. It’s.. the light. And it’s coming from. from me. I can't…

 

I did it…

 

Stay calm.  _ Stay calm. _ No. 

 

“I did it.” Unless I’m mad and imagining it. Likely, but I don't believe it. 

 

I laugh. Can’t stop. There so much here.. So much  _ power _ . Raw, unimaginable power. Like a well without a bottom. I can't.. I should return to the ship. Before I suffocate, although I feel that would be impossible. I feel.. Invincible. No, calm. I still need to breathe.  _ Move _ .

 

I’m back inside in a blink. I’m that fast. So.. strong..  _ Stay calm _ . Is this enough? It is hard to imagine this power.. that this power could not be enough for _ anything _ . I think I could blow up a star, if I felt like it.

 

I have to.. I need to.. I try and calm myself, stop the aura raging off of me. I’ll tear the ship apart if I keep this up. And it's ok.  _ It’s ok _ . I know I can get it back. Something inside me snapped, and I can feel the root of this power, where it’s coming from. I can turn it back on.  _ Let go… _

 

When I finally manage to release the Super Saiyan form, and the raging in my ears still, a familiar sound catches my attention. It is an incoming message.

 

I nearly start crowing at her, but I’m tripping over my own words because  _ I’ve done it! _ I’ve done it and I’m finally there and, “ _ where were you the last fucking three days, you stupid bitch!”  _

 

Yet it's not Bulma on the screen. It’s the father. He talks slower than usual, eyes hollow and tired, but a pleased smile on his face. He tells me I have become the father of a healthy baby boy. Both mother and child are fine, but exhausted from labor. And the boy has purple hair. Which makes an awful lot of sense, doesn’t it? 


	40. 40 rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my betas over8000 and meganechan.  
> to kimothyschma for noticing all those little details I tried to put in here, and also  
> WhatTheHanz for reviewing. I actually slowed the pacing several times, because it was all too much. thanks for noticing! im glad its good now.

For a moment, Vegeta thought he was still in space, floating weightlessly around a planet of furry little creatures calling themselves Lesser Saiyans. Then Vegeta realised he was breathing, he was warm... and he was wet. Disappointment only lasted until his higher brain functions kicked in. Then, he panicked. As soon as he touched the floor, he tore off the breathing mask, only to have his mouth fill with tank fluids. Another two seconds, and the level was low enough for him to take a gulping mouthful of fresh air. 

 

“Medic. Fuck.” The girl. The knife. The poison... “Did you get the poison?”

 

Through the window in the door, he met gazes with a frog in a doctor’s coat. It slowly inclined its head as it waited for the basin to empty, blinking its bubble-eyes with one webbed hand on the glass. 

 

Vegeta could not stand it a moment longer. He sloshed through the knee-deep fluids, grabbed the door with one hand and thrusted it open, right into and up at the frog. “Fuck,” he articulated once more, finally on dry ground. Cold air pricked his naked wet skin, but modesty was not on the Prince’s mind.

 

The medic clicked his tongue, then fought itself free from a big, red creature that had grabbed the little frog to save it from Vegeta and the frog-squashing pod door. The doctor didn't seem to appreciate the rescue though, or the danger he had avoided. “Charming. There goes another perfectly operational healing pod. Saiyans, always creatures of such patience.“ 

 

Finally free of the red giant Vegeta identified as a nurse, the frog-doctor started to pace erratically, grousing about the amount of thanklessness he got, coupled with damages and clogged drains on account of hair. The nurse whimpered, made itself small as it wavered between hiding behind the doctor, and picking it up again. Vegeta wasn’t sure. He just knew the pair reminded him of a planet he’d visited not too long ago, where the higher-class amongst the populace —so called ‘ladies’— would carry small pets in their arms for status. He’d done the galaxy a favour getting rid of those things, obviously.

 

After a few unsuccessful attempts to get back to the doctor’s side, the nurse gave up and hid its face from Vegeta behind a datapad. Vegeta sneered at the big coward, then turned to shake the liquids from his hair; from his mane to a final lazy flick of the tail. Those bloody lab docs always thought themselves to be clever. Vegeta should just save himself the embarrassment and ask one of his squad, and indeed Nion stood guard at the entrance of the room. He turned to the old, haggard looking man: “Did they get the poison?”

 

“And still too stupid to even know who the doctor is. Amazing.”

 

Vegeta snapped back around and fixed the little yellow amphibian with his nastiest glare. It slid off the doctor like water, and the thing scowled right back at the Prince of Saiyans like he was meat on market. Slow and sickly meat at that. Not that Vegeta let that get to him; he just bared his teeth at the medic in a silent snarl, determined to show he didn't feel intimidated in the slightest.

 

The doctor, of course, didn't back down either. Such of his profession were rarely inclined to. Even on Frieza's ship, such experts got away with more than anyone. Out here, on some forgotten outskirt mining station, this one doctor probably held every soldier’s life in his hands.

 

Vegeta, from his side, was well aware that picking a fight with this creature would be a bad move. But that didn't mean he had to let the little bullfrog walk all over him! And so their staring competition continued, until finally the big red nurse took a worried step closer to the doctor. “Please sir, don't antagonize one fresh from the tank!”

 

Vegeta snorted, averted his gaze and placed his hands on his bare hips. “Yes doctor. Don't antagonize the  _ Saiyan _ .”

The doctor however was not ready to let it go. Eyes bulging, it took two excited steps forward. Then it smiled at Vegeta, thin lips on an impossibly wide face thinning further. “Well, this is supposed to be the clever one. Though, I’d never have thought it by its bloodwork.”

 

Vegeta nearly missed the way it wagged thin eyebrows at him, and the knowing smile. Because the panic from before had reasserted itself. His confident smirk fell. “Fuck! The  _ poison _ . Did you get it?” 

 

The doctor just barked a laugh, then started his angry pacing again. However, a meaningful glance passed between doctor and nurse, and it seemed to put the big creature at ease. There was even a slight smile on that smooth red face, as the nurse busied itself reading its tablet. 

 

As for the prince, confusion warred with panic. He didn't think he’d given the doctor enough grief to want him dead.. Did he? It wasn’t unheard of, but medical personnel usually covered up such acts as ‘accidents’, and usually the victim had had it coming, killing or maiming doctors and staff on a regular basis. Vegeta didn't think he’d warranted that kind of treatment. Definitely not slow death of poison as his doctor stood by gloating.

 

Nion finally cut through the silence. “They think you took something sir. I told ‘m not. Told ‘m that’s nonsense. But they won't listen.”

 

Vegeta breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. Nion didn't seem to think he was dying. Perhaps there was some sort of misunderstanding? He still felt weird, and he couldn’t seem to keep up with the flow of  a normal conversation. If this was a normal conversation. “Took? I got stabbed. With poison.”

 

The doctor whirled to a stop and regarded him, head slowly tilting to the a side, big eyes in a puckered yellow face narrowed to slits. “I am no fool, Saiyan. No one gets ‘stabbed’ with XT-156C.” 

 

“XT  _ what _ ?”

 

The frog sighed, then explained slowly, like he was talking to a simpleton. “XT-156C. Commonly used for leisure activities. Side-effects can include hallucinations, impaired judgement, false sense of affection and hyperactivity. Oh, don't worry. All traces are out of your system by now, and even in the amounts you ingested it is hardly lethal. But please don't mix business and pleasure again. I understand you must be under pressure and are of _ that age _ ... But regardless, this particular substance will affect your ability to lead in a... less than productive manner.” 

 

Vegeta stared at the doctor, completely confused. The poison… was not? That didn't make any sense. Hadn’t that crazy bitch...? The throbbing from his side. Her feverish smile...  _ ‘I am helping you...’  _ Fuck. “I don't understand...” Didn't make any sense at all. Why would she have stabbed him, if not to kill him?

 

Vegeta only half listened to the doctor it dutifully gave him a run through of his injuries: “Asphyxiation. Aerobullosis. Extreme _frostbite._ This was a close call you know, and I don't doubt a large part of this was caused by an unaccountable _lapse of judgement_ , would you not agree?” 

 

A red thread of anger was building inside Vegeta’s chest, heating his face. The audacity of this creature! “Are you done?” he finally bit out, trying to hold his temper.

 

But the creature proved impervious to sarcasm and nodded sharply, like it had proven a point. “You also might want to consider cutting down on the long travel times you’ve had on your last batch of missions. You Saiyans always skim the line, but such long trips -  as you and your team have been making lately - are likely to cause both physical and mental problems.”

 

Vegeta scowled at the little doctor, for it apparently thought it was being downright clever. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

“I wouldn't worry too much.” The red hulking nurse cut in, coming between the pair armed only with his datapad and a nervous smile. “It should be fine, and any development issues you Saiyans experience usually even out in the end. Just remember for good health you need exercise in an environment with gravity. Maybe some fresh air.”

 

“Oh, good,” Vegeta countered coldly. “We get plenty of that during missions.”

 

The doctor blinked its giant, spherical eyes, at its nurse, then back at Vegeta. “That’s not how it works. Also, you can't just...”

 

Vegeta locked his gaze on the little doctor.  He felt a sudden need to blast it. Squish it. Anything. The red nurse whimpered again and picked up the doctor, causing it to let out an indignant squeak. “Hold on, I’m not done yet!”

 

“I think we are, sir.” The big red thing smiled again, then excused itself and left medical at a dead run, the protesting frog of a doctor clutched to its chest. Just like those high-class ladies. With an indignant huff, Vegeta finally turned to find a fresh bodysuit and armor. He slowly started dressing in silence. His mind whirled; it was hard to focus, hard to keep his thoughts on what was coming and not look back. He didn't have time, never had time; in fact, just the idea of how much travel time this detour to get Vegeta to a healing pod must have taken... Finally, when he reached for his gloves, Vegeta dared to ask Nion: “How much time did we lose?”

 

Nion messed with his scouter, aiming it at Vegeta, then mumbled a curse. The question seemed to go unnoticed at first, but at least the old man caught himself after a moment. “Ah? Sir... Well, let’s put it this way... Between the unplanned trip here, and your time in the pods... Happy birthday.”

 

That was stupid. He’d turned 14  _ months _ ago... Unless... “Shit.”

 

“Yes sir,” the old man agreed, face haggard and scrunched up in contemplation. “Well, this really was a close call. But I suppose this would please you... However, please consider...”

 

Vegeta was not pleased at all! “What the  _ fuck, _ old man? Where are we? What about the schedule?”

 

“A small space station in orbit over Frieza 65. A mining planet. We’ve been guests of the good captain Bakon. He’s been a good host, ah, mostly. There have been some problems with our provisions, however...” 

 

Vegeta stepped into his boots, grouching. “What in blazes would please me about this entire mess of a situation?” Vegeta’s schedule was in shambles; their team had already been set back almost a year already, when they had to work at top efficiency if they ever hoped to clear their debt. And now, they were stuck on some no-name colony...

 

“My prince... Have you checked your power level?”

 

He tisked, annoyed. He’d need some kind of miracle to get things back on track. He needed an edge. “It’s been stuck at a little over 2,000. Why?” He hoped it hadn’t gone down too much. Yet he’d never been hurt so bad before. He didn't feel weaker, though. If anything... He felt amazing. 

 

Noin muttered, dropping his scouter from his eye, then finally assessed. “Zenkai.”

 

“What?” 

 

“Zenkai.” Nion stated again, and frowned as if concerned. “Congratulations, you’ve just hit 3,500.”

  
  



	41. prodigy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks 2 my betas, meganechan and over8000!

Nothing has changed.

 

Well, technically that’s not true. I suppose you might say a lot has changed. I’m a Super Saiyan. The androids are here. We killed several, but not the right ones. Oh, and the boy from the future turned out to be my son.

 

The scenery has also changed. I'm stuck in some spirit/time room. Stuck in a room with nothing stretching out in every direction; a familiar void, except it’s white instead of black and I can breathe out here. My company is said son from the future; another change, and upon consideration a definite downgrade from the woman and her parents. As for the food, although there is an abundance, it has been provided in its basic components and needs to be prepared. By my son, whose basic kitchen training seems to have been ‘open can and heat contents’.

 

So basically, everything is different. Yet nothing has changed.

 

What? Oh yes. I’m a Super Saiyan now. I did it. Claimed my birthright. Three years too late to kill Frieza, but that shouldn't matter because now I’m number one. Or I should have been number one. I _should_ have been undefeatable.

 

Did I mention I’m _not_? There’s Kakarot, of course. Although, I might be pulling ahead of him now. Also, there’s my boy, Trunks. He’s fucking strong and a fucking Super Saiyan... since... how old was he anyway when he transformed? I don’t even know, but he can’t even be twenty yet. A fucking teen Super Saiyan. How ridiculous is that? He slayed Frieza. Slayed King Cold like it was nothing, at an age when I still had to run from things as pathetic as Guldo...

 

Oh, but it gets _better_ . I got owned by a _little girl_ ; got my ass handed to me, got _both_ my arms broke by some nobody bitch more interested in fashion than fighting. And she didn't even break a sweat for it. I flex my hands at the memory of it and stare at the ceiling. The stupid, white ceiling. Kami, I hate that color, maybe even more than purple. Too familiar. Too much of the same...

 

So that’s where we’re at. I’ve achieved all that I’ve worked for, all of my life... but it didn't make an inch of difference. In the end, it’s just not enough. Not enough by far.  It feels like I’ve been swimming under water all my life, trying to crest the surface. And now, just when I thought I did... I’ve hit rock bottom instead, like I lost which way was up and which was down at some point.

 

I mean. What if it’s _never_ going to be enough? What is the point? Why fight if you’re destined to lose? I don't really know. I feel like I’m missing something, somewhere. Like I’m doing something fundamentally wrong;  if I could just turn things upside down, just look at things anew... I’d find a way, a way to make it to the top. Yet I can't see it from here and it’s driving me mad. It’s scaring me to death.

 

Oh, and finally, there’s the boy. He enters our sleeping quarters, wearing _my_ fucking scowl on _his_ face; a near-Saiyan face with a mop of _stupid fucking_ _purple hair_ over it. His step is tense and angry like he’s trying to mimic me. After a pregnant pause he grouches unenthusiastically, “Breakfast is ready.”

 

Ugh. _Trunks_. What a fucking joke, and what sort of name is that anyway? At least he's stopped fawning over me like a lost cub, stopped with the simpering smiles and friendly glances. I think he’s angry with me now. Fucking good. About time someone pulled him down a few notches.

 

Spoiled brat. The boy keeps telling me _I’m_ underestimating the androids, spends most of our morning meal telling me I need to tone it down. Well? What the fuck does he know? Yeah, I know the type. Got his super Saiyan status on a silver platter before he hit twenty, didn’t he? Of course he’s just going to assume that if he can’t do something, than no one can and no amount of hard work will change that. Idiot.

 

After breakfast - a sorry affair of heated beans and scrambled eggs mixed together into a sordid slush - I tell the boy it’s time for another _real_ spar. He gives me a worried frown, but follows me out and crouches down into a fighting stance. I can read the boy well enough by now; he’s not looking forward to another pounding.

 

I wonder if he’s sorry yet, about  agreeing to come in here with me. Even worse; I am beginning to think the kid doesn't really _like to fight._ He might not be as Saiyan as I thought... Well, what can I say? Kid’s got his mother’s hair. His mother’s eyes. The rest is all me, or so I thought. All bluster and stupid pride. I thought it’d be fine to take him down a few notches. Yet even after months of this he’s still pulling his punches, still going easy on me.

 

It’s not that he’s underestimating me, is it? Might have been that way at the start, but by now he certainly knows better. He might be a little scared of me by now, because I certainly don’t hold back, and he’s gotten his ass handed to him on several occasions. He’s not really returning the favour, though. I yell at him in anger. “Fight like you mean it, or I’m going to wipe the floor with you. Again!”

 

All it does is make him wince, step back a little. And isn’t it just sad, to realise he really doesn't like to fight? There’s no thrill in it for him, no joy. He does it to survive. That’s all it is. Where did his upbringing go wrong? Hmm... I’d say it was the human in him, but somehow I doubt it. Although I can sympathise with the need to take a fight seriously... Even I can remember fucking about as a young cub, messing around with me sparring partners. What was that thing again they did? Oh yes.

 

When the boy gets his act together and charges me, I drop my guard at the second attack and take a full roundhouse to the side of my chest. There’s a good amount of strength to it, and I let myself fly off into nothing before I slow and turn around. “Lucky hit,” I tell him, smirking a little.

 

I see his shocked eyes under his now-golden hair. For a moment I’m afraid he’ll drop right out of Super Saiyan, when he throws up his hands and apologizes. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn't think that one would go through. That looked like it hurt. Are you alright, Dad?”

 

I scowl at him. No, the boy does not know how to have fun. At all. What a disappointment. “ _This_ will hurt a lot more!” I promise him after a moment, giving up on even trying. He’s probably too old to learn to play around by now. He’s at the age where you’ve already learned to stop.

 

There’s no beginning or end to the days here; just a little clock over our sleeping quarters, but the spar has an end. The obvious kind, where the boy drops out of Super Saiyan and lies on the hard white ground face down, panting hard. His arms are wrapped around his midsection, so I suppose I might have hit him too hard. In an attempt to reconcile, I drag him inside by his hair. Instead of being thankful, he complains about it. Whiny brat.

 

Kakarot kept hinting this would be perfect father-son bonding time. I’m not sure I’m into that, but I had to share this room and my other two options would have likely driven me mad. Trunks is not all bad, though; has a temper on him when you play him right, and he’s intelligent enough not to get on my nerves too much.

 

Sadly, he’s completely ignorant of what Saiyans are. Hell, if he knew anything about Saiyan customs he’d be challenging me for my title. Not that I actually have one. My father got himself killed before I could claim it; he was just another speck on Frieza’s windshield. Left me without my title or my kingdom, or a home. Pretty irresponsible of him, really, but at least he went out in a blaze of glory. Which is the Saiyan thing to do. I think. Besides, it’s the kind of end that begs for a legacy. In a way, that’s what we got. When the brat slew Frieza, the royal line got their revenge, even if I got cut out of the process.

 

Isn’t that something? Kind of makes up for some of this shit, I guess. Raditz said he saw me do it once. Said I was wrapped in a golden aura, but he was pretty crazy by then. Honestly, with the hair change in Super Saiyan form, he might have confused me with the boy. He’s nearly identical to me, that way. Just a little taller.

 

Although the more I look, the more differences I notice. The hair, the mannerisms, the way he talks. None of that is mine. And the thinking; the thinking is definitely not mine. He’s going to get himself killed, the way he over-analyzes everything; in the moment.. That’s okay to do after a fight, but I’m reasonably sure it what's slowing him down during the fighting too; rehashing all he’s learned while still in combat. It’s a lousy habit for a warrior and even worse for a Saiyan.

 

It’s all eerily familiar though: the polite smiles, the breaks in conversation, waiting for a response. The constant talking, and the way he multitasks, bandaging his own chest and prepping for lunch. I finally realise when his back is turned and I don't have to see that stupid scowl on the wrong face, that it’s her; it’s _all_ her. Like they made a carbon copy of her soul and put it into a body that tries to mimic me.

 

I think I miss her, which is ridiculous. I’m still angry with her. Not that I need to be _angry_ to kill that bloody bitch. What she did...  That manipulative wench _tricked_ me, didn’t she? Forced me out into space and then reeled me right back in like some yo-yo. Because, hey, now I’m a Super Saiyan too, so suddenly I fit back in with her plans.

 

Yet a year is a long time, especially without cryo sleep and healing pods. It’s becoming harder to summon my anger. Especially when the kid keeps telling me these stories. I’ve told him that I’m not listening. Well, he just glanced at me and told me he wasn’t talking _to_ me anyway. Maybe talking about her is how he hangs on to sanity in the great empty white. “She worked so hard on that time machine. But I’m almost certain now that I won’t be able to help my timeline with this. She took it in stride though. My mother is so strong...”

 

I don’t believe that for a second. Bulma probably just waited for the boy to clear off before she started up some new ploy. I can't even imagine the woman accepting anything close to defeat. Ugh. I _do_ miss her. Not just her house, or her food. The company. I think I miss her everything; from the incessant chattering to the unbridled touching... Maybe I’m the one that’s gone mad.

 

It’s not the boy’s fault, though. I really shouldn’t have taken out my anger on him. But the surprise-you’re-a-father-and-he’s-a-teen kind of ticked me off. Seriously, how fucked up is that? I knew I'd get my child to hate me, if I ever had one. But fucking Kami, before I even _contributed?_ Have I already ruined my chances? When did that happen? Oh, right. When we met. Isn’t that cute? Leave it to me to make my child hate me since _before_ conception.

 

Yet the less he likes me the easier he becomes to deal with, and I try to cut him some slack. Without even commenting on the sad state of our lunch, and tell him we’ll go another round when we’re done eating. Again, he looks less than enthusiastic. This time, I can't help but snarl at him: “What?!”

 

“Dad, I’m sorry. But I thought you were going to teach me something. I thought we were going to train. All we’re doing is beating each other till we can't move anymore. Is that productive?”

 

I blink at him, annoyed. I almost tell him that it’s only productive for _him_ , as I’m not really getting anywhere near a decent Zenkai, the way he pulls his punches. I finally settle on: “Maybe you need to try harder,” and give him a shove on our way out.

 

Of course, now the boy’s in a worse mood than ever before. Ugh. I kind of had this conversation with his mother, didn’t I? Didn’t really pay much attention to what she felt I did wrong, though. Perhaps he’s looking for some form of parental advice? What would my father have said at such times… ah, yes. Two minutes into our spar I offer: “your technique is lousy and you telegraph with your fucking feet. What inbred maniac taught you to fight like that?”

 

Nope. No good. Trunks eyes narrow; he must be seething, because the next flurry of punches are definitely at full strength. “Yeah? Well... not you, Dad. Obviously.”

 

Fair enough. I didn't much like it when my dad talked to me like that either. I always hated that constructive criticism shit. Although I might finally get the spar I’ve been looking for. Hmm... then again, I was trying to make him hate me less. We still have seven months to go in this place, and that’s a long time for your only source of food to hate you...

I cast around for something nice to say. Something fatherly; which does not come natural to me. The flurry of kicks and punches coming at me in rapid succession does not make it easier. When we separate finally, my forearms throb  from blocking, and I can honestly say: “But hey, I got to admit, you're pretty strong for a mon-”

 

Fuck. Fuck no. Anyone but him. No. It. The fucking monster doesn’t deserve to be referred to as a person.

 

“For a what?” the boy inquires, fuming. I can't even.

 

My breath is getting away from me. Where did that come from? “For a half-breed?”

 

Oh nice. Nice _save._ The idea of defusing the situation is out the window, and I’m glad. I can't stand this place. Everything’s _white_ . Pristeen white and clean and empty, like space. Like a white space-ship in a white space. _His_ ship. I can't do this. I need to fight. Really, actually fight. Maybe the boy will provide...? He’s half monkey after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in other news, we have passed the half way point of this fic! yay! there are still a few things to be ironed out, a few chapters that will likely end split, but I've counted to 70, and im nearly done with 43-60 too, so I doubt it'll be ten more. so lets celebrate!!!


	42. reign

Vegeta didn't have time for this, for any of it. Every minute this audacity continued, more time was lost. Getting back on schedule seemed less and less likely, yet the Saiyan prince would not give up. He would  _ not _ lose. His name was on the line here, along with his title and his fucking identity. 

 

Everything took too long. Pushing Nion ahead of him through the tight corridors of the space-station. Arguing with a room full of waiting nobodies that  _ he _ should have first access to the captain’s office. Talking to the secretary in the next room. Oh, sweet Cold-In-His-Ship did talking to that man take forever! 

 

The secretary, a red stick figure with wooly yarn for a head, was obviously another Saiyan-hater. With a sneer and haughty stare, it jealously guarded access to the office beyond. Yet Vegeta knew the creature was just a weakling, a hypothetical obstacle that could have been dealt with in a second... and yet his first barrage of threats had no effect on the pathetic thing. The thin creature only raised its chin up another inch, then finally asked, “Are you quite finished?”

 

Vegeta was not about to give up so easily. He considered his options as he side-eyed the guards posted at the captain’s door. Sure, he could kill the secretary and then overpower the guards. The hulking pair were reasonably impressive, but with the added Zenkai boost Vegeta knew he could take them. Still, they’d slow him down enough for the entire base’s garrison to be on his back before he set foot inside the office.

 

No, this was one of those rare times that resorting to violence would not speed things up. So, in a worthy effort at restraint, Vegeta exhaled and inquired as nicely as he could. “Well, when  _ will _ the captain have time to talk to me?”

 

The secretary tisked at him again as it leafed through a booklet. “‘With the way you talk to me, perhaps some time next month.”

 

“Look here, you pompous weak fuck—” Vegeta snapped his jaws shut, teeth clicking together. Nion awkwardly shifted by his side. Oh, he should not have said that out loud!

 

The red wiggling mass stared down at him haughtily, then with obvious disdain turned up its nose. “Whoops, all booked next month too. Six weeks from now I have a hole.” Its thin wire of an arm leafed through its booklet, a physical representation of the captain’s schedule, and the secretary’s power over Vegeta. Over everyone else as well, no doubt. The little shitstain of a man was definitely not above abusing its power.

 

Vegeta exhaled another breath, fists already balled up painfully tight. “Don't you fucking dare...”

 

“Nope, just filled that slot up too. Eight weeks it is.” It had the nerve to smirk, although it quickly hid that grin within the wiggling red tentacles. Again, the Saiyan considered the merits of a quick and brutal murder. No, there were still... better... options available.

 

“Are you sure you want a squad of  _ bored Saiyans  _ on your base that long?” Vegeta raised an eyebrow at the stick-thing, then relaxed his posture. With effort, he unclenched his fists then examined the back of his glove, tugging at it with feigned disinterest. “I imagine they’ve been in your tentacles long enough by now. Why, it’s a miracle no accidents have happened. Look, I don’t even need to talk to the captain. Just release our pods and provide us with fuel and rations.”

 

“Hmm. No, I really don't think I will.” The secretary shrugged, thin shoulders over a mop of a head. “But if it is food and fuel you require, perhaps you will accept a few odd jobs? Payment is in food stamps, and those trade for fuel as well.”

 

It was a strain for Vegeta to keep that smug smile on his face. “Odd jobs? Are you aware of  _ who I am _ ?”

 

The secretary still looked down at its pages, apparently intrigued with the contents. Vegeta knew it was fake, no one used paper anymore. “Well, even if the work is below you, your men have been managing well enough until now. Keeping our excavation teams safe, culling the wildlife; they’ve even removed a groups of insurgents… and it’s all good fun for Saiyans, or so I understand.”

 

“You’ve been  _ using my squad?! _ ” Vegeta growled, voice cracking at the end. All efforts of diplomacy forgotten, he grabbed the book out of the secretary’s hands. It incinerated the moment Vegeta touched it, his control over his ki slipping. Vegeta barely managed not to put his hands on the secretary to the same effect, as a pit of black death inside of him screamed to be fed like some half-starved Oozaru. He reigned it in, and leaned close to the shocked secretary. “This ends NOW!”

 

To his credit, the creature only swallowed before returning to business. “You are unhappy with this arrangement? But your men have already agreed...”

 

Vegeta eyed Nion. The old man swallowed but avoided eye contact.

 

Every time.  _ Every time  _ Vegeta seemed to forget how useless his men really were.. Were they actively sabotaging his efforts, or were they really  _ just this stupid? _ Vegeta couldn't comprehend it. Surely they could see it was their asses on the line as well? Were his Saiyans actually  _ trying  _ to end up dead? Why was he even bothering with them at this point?

 

Yet the worst of all was the audacity,  the shame of having his Saiyans  _ —his _ , dammit!— bow to the will of some backwater nobody. Oh, how could they? How did they  _ dare _ ..? With a roar, Vegeta pushed the old man ahead with one hand and ordered: “Get me to those fools.” 

 

What a damned useless bunch! Well, he’d straighten them out. His other hand went to his scouter so he could to relay a message straight to headquarters, but then he paused. Would Frieza even come to his aid? Vegeta wouldn’t put it past the tyrant to place some additional hurdles in their game, and this might well be one of them. An enterprising captain derailing them seemed like its modus operandi, done purely for entertainment purposes of course. Not that Vegeta was having much fun.

 

It didn't really matter, Vegeta decided as he kicked the old man to move faster. Even if this was one of Frieza’s ploys, he was better off relaying the situation. Else he and his team just might get reported AWOL, and that was a can of worms Vegeta did not want to deal with. He’d send a message to Frieza and hope for the best.

 

They finally entered a holding dock, filled with boxes and cargo. Four of his men sat at a large crate they were using for a table piled with paper noted and bottles of liquor, playing a game of cards like they were on leave or something. Jack waved at him in greeting, totally oblivious to his commander's fuming. “Just in time, sir! I’m cleaning them out! Come, take a seat, play a round!”

 

The twins stared at their cards, too engrossed in the game to even glance up at their prince. Papple, the fourth man at the table, did frown up, but his gaze was directed at Jack. Well he should, because Vegeta was about to end the idiot first-class.

 

No, better yet, he’d teach them all a lesson. Yes; that would do. Vegeta directed a quick warning glare to Nion, then asked with fake honey, “Oh, that sounds like  _ fun. _ What are you guys playing for?”

 

“Food stamps!” Jack replied enthusiastically. He stood up from the smaller crate he used as a seat, raked through his pile of winnings, and knocked a empty bottle over with his elbow. It shattered on the ground, but Jack didn't even notice as he babbled at his prince. “Got enough here to eat all week!”

 

The big lug grinned, his rugged face stretching, dull eyes hinting how little the brain cells worked beyond.. His black mane bobbed up and down as he nodded, spinning some tale of his completely unimportant endeavours. Idiot. Jack's smile seemed gentler today, and his body language more relaxed than Vegeta was used to seeing from the big brute. He’d gotten soft; it was time to re-educate the fool. 

 

Vegeta smiled back warmly. “Oh. Awesome. That’s what you’ve been doing while I was healing in the tanks? How productive.”

 

“Yeah.” Jack actually looked happy. “This place is the best. You dont even need a pod to get to the planet, you can just fly out, and there’s a big training area behind the mines and…”

 

He didn’t get any further because Vegeta buried his fist so deep in his guts that Jack had no air left to talk with. The giant first-class dropped like a sack; for a full five seconds seconds his mouth gaped in breathless O’s, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. Finally, after a much-needed breath, he groaned loudly.

 

“This. ends. now!” Vegeta warned the remaining three at the table and gestured to include the already cowering Nion. The prince punctuated his words with a kick at the prone man. “None of you will be working for these  _ idiots _ any more.” Vegeta kicked Jack once more and revelled in his group’s impressed shock. “You work for  _ me _ , or I’ll make sure you can’t  _ ever work again, _ ” One last kick put an end to Jack’s groaning and wheezing.“You got that?”

 

All four stood frozen, but Vegeta held their gazes until they not only nodded but finally lined up and gave him a proper salute. Only then did he look down at the mess he had created on the floor. Vegeta really had gotten stronger; so much so that even he nearly gasped at the bloody pulp that used to be his soldier. Instead, Vegeta covered his shock with a scowl; there was a lot more to be done. “Papple, get this idiot to the tanks.”

 

Then finally for the identical twins... Vegeta had finally found a solution to his troubles. “Kura, you go to provisions and stalk their people until they give you fuel and provisions for our trip. Coli... go grow a fucking beard, man.”

 

That was most of his team sorted. Now, where was Nappa? And where the  _ hell _ was Raditz?

 

He finally found Nappa in a secluded area, looking down through a low window. The view would probably be called breathtaking by those inclined towards romance, or at least vertigo-inducing by those with a fear of heights. The planet below filled the entire window; a gaping hole of a mine in the middle of the window frame that looked like a giant puckered scar.

 

Vegeta hardly spared the view a thought, except to doubt Nappa had the capacity to appreciate the spectacle. The brute, however, surprised Vegeta by speaking up before the prince even had time to launch into a proper tirade. The Elite’s gaze remained fixed on the planet, frozen and sad. “You know, I had a girl... A woman on Vegeta-sei. Nothing as silly as a mate, mind you! Cold knows, she fucked around more than I did!” 

 

Vegeta blinked twice, before remembering he didn’t have time for sob-stories. Not even surprise ones that came from this living pile of callousness. The very idea of Nappa feeling for anyone, least of all some woman, should have been funny. 

 

Nappa seemed aware of that, because he barked out a laugh before Vegeta could even put a punchline to it. “Met her on my first lunar festival and the cub that we begat fought itself out of the nurseries early.” He shrugged, apologetic. “We had this thing where we’d meet up every festival, and I begat her a new one. The old-fashioned way. She’d only have them cut out after a few months. Was right suspicious about carrying them at least the first term, said the pods would weaken them. We had three altogether, and all made it out. Three! That woman was a regular breeder. Said mine were the  _ best _ cubs. Strong and fierce.”

 

Vegeta growled, but Nappa talked over him, oblivious.. “I would've liked to have a girl with her.”

 

What Vegeta wished to do now would probably cause a decompression accident; he knew he could too, now that he’d surpassed Nappa’s power level.. What the fuck gave this man the right to pour his heart out to Vegeta over some weak woman and a couple of dead brats? Why was he the only responsible Saiyan left in existence?

 

Yet before he spoke out, Vegeta actually looked at the older man. He should have noticed sooner, he realised, because Nappa looked a mess. Perhaps better than he’d looked on their last mission, but he still looked tired and thin. Haunted, and come to think of it... the Elite was not the only one. The rest of his team did not look any better.

 

Was it exhaustion? Some form of sickness due to too much travelling? Maybe they were pining for their planet? Perhaps that was why his men had been so easily taken advantage of. Perhaps they’d been willing to do anything, take on any job  that would allow them a chance to walk on a planet’s surface and away from gruelling schedules and harrowing work-loads?

 

Perhaps his men did not have the same motivation Vegeta had. Luckily for them, Vegeta knew how to share that endless depth of emotion that kept him going: Anger. There was always enough anger to go around. 

 

“Nappa,” Vegeta breathed, then hardened his voice.“Nappa, listen to me, this is important.” The prince flew over, grabbed Nappa by his mohawk. Even that felt limp and tired. Thin. “Nappa,  _ nobody _ cares.

 

“I don't care, Frieza doesn't care, the assholes on this base sure as hell don't care. Not even the people waiting on their asses until you get back and purge the fuck outta them care. Now, what does that want to make you do, Nappa?” Vegeta pushed until his forehead hit the big elite’s, but he could still see the man’s features twist. 

 

“Go out and murder someone.” Nappa hissed through his teeth, softly but with venom. Then, louder and with more conviction: “go out and murder the lot of them.” 

 

“Good, now get back to your pod and make sure the engineers here understand: you are going to murder someone, soon.” Vegeta floated backwards, forced a hand to Nappa’s shoulder in what he hoped was a gesture of comfort. “And Nappa,” with his tone he forced eye contact, which the big Elite gave after a few furtive blinks. “It would be in their best interest if we were not on this base by that time...” 

 

Nappa stepped back, looking away, and nodded once. Then gathered himself up, straightening his spine, and nodded once more. Vegeta waited for the simpleton to leave. He even held still as Nappa marched out the automated door, rubbing his eyes. The prince absentmindedly cleaned his forehead with the back of his glove as he thought. He had but one more squad member to find before they could leave. Where was Raditz hiding?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! missed me? i might have mentioned, but im almost done with this fic. just a few chapter to untangle at the end.. but its funny how that has repercussions as far back as this chapter. so I held off in posting it a little while, sorry! as always, special thanks to my betas over8000 and meganechan. and thank you for reading ;) I hoped you enjoyed.


	43. Cell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously (2 chapters back), Vegeta tried to bond with his son from the future in the room of Spirit/Time. Today, we battle Cell, and the fruits of training are ready for the picking...

Cell. So, is this all there is to the monster? The ‘ultimate warrior’ seems little more than a punching bag. It’s not even interesting, fighting this shit-ugly bug man. How disappointing... another insect, another bug to be squashed under my boot. At least it looks the part.

 

As for victory? I’d imagined something little bit more— ah— exhilarating? Pleasing? I’d expected it to bring some form of fulfillment at least, yet I feel no different. Nothing at all. I scowl at this insectoid excuse for a warrior. No, I doubt I’ll get anything better out of this thing.

 

Perhaps it’s the audience that’s lacking in enthusiasm. There’s only the pair, but what they lack in numbers they make up for in emotion. First, my son from the future, keeping out of the fight — which is what I told him to do. That’s worth something at least. The second part of my audience consists of the bald gnome... I think that one is about fifty-fifty on who he wants to win. Sure, Cell winning will spell the end of the world. But it feels like he believes me getting my ass kicked would prove some kind of point. 

 

My boy, I think he’s just wanting me to slow the bug-man down so Kakarot can take the credit. He might prefer it even if this roach pounds me into the ground first. After that disaster of a year spent training, I suppose it makes sense for him to want him see me get my face punched in. His lackluster attitude is understandable. Still, they could  _ pretend, _ right?

 

Well, whatever. This is shaping up to be a total let down. And damn that sure sucks, because if I can’t even enjoy a nice and easy victory... what is there, really? Let's face it. I don't much enjoy training. Which is okay; something that hurts so much should not be fun. As for the fight itself, I hate — _ -hate!-— _ losing. No, I’d rather cheat, I’d rather kill, I’d rather  _ die _ than lose. I’m damn proud of that too.

 

But now it seems I don't enjoy  _ winning _ either.

 

The thing called Cell keeps complaining that it could have been better— that it could have beaten me. If only... If only it had been  _ perfect _ . I don't believe the thing. I can hardly make myself care. In my mind, I am already one step ahead. What an empty triumph this turned out to be. So there’s no point in dragging this out; the monster has lost. I should dispatch it and get on with my  _ real plans _ .

 

Kakarot. He is my real target. I’ll be lord and master of this little planet after getting rid of him. I’ll call myself King and have these Earthlings serve me. Hell, I’ll even challenge him to a fair fight. Do it right, because even if he lets the others bear the executive burdens, Kakarot is the true ruler, the true Champion of this mudball. Oh sure, he lets both the woman and his harpy lord over him. But with him out of the way,  _ I _ certainly won’t be fool enough to let anyone control me.

 

Anyway, I bet even Earthlings will understand what the herculean fight between me and Kakarot means. You humans will show our showdown on your news channels, and know how far above you I am. You will realise you are but cattle to me. You’ll accept me as your King after a look at that raw power; after that demonstration. Kakarot does deserve that much: a true duel held out in the open.

 

Yet I won't be foiled again; I’ve got to get rid of those Z-fighters first. The prime targets in this scenario are Kakarot’s half-breed and my own son from the future. Both are wildcards I’ll need to deal with before I duel.. It needs to be done. If I don’t, they will get in the way and mewl at me until I'm exhausted... Just like when I first came to this planet.

 

I cannot get to Gohan, but my son is right here. He is strong and will definitely give me a good warm-up to the main event. Possibly even too much; I shouldn’t risk leaving him alive until Kakarot shows up. A surprise attack would be best, I think. Deny him the chance of an honest fight. I’ll take him out first, and then finish the monk second. The Krill-thing is disgustingly loyal and has proven to cause trouble if given a chance. Killing it should not be hard.

 

It is a shame though.

 

My offspring. My own flesh and blood. I feel weird thinking about it. I’d never even thought it possible, siring a child. And just look at him, all Super and grown already. It would be nice to offer him a place at my side. But I have failed to endear myself to him during the year spent in the Spirit/Time Chamber, so I doubt he would betray his ‘friends’ for me now. He’s too human for that. 

 

Damn you humans. You  _ brainwashed _ and  _ tamed _ him. If not for  _ you _ , I bet I could make him see reason. But you got a hold of him too young, turned his views upside-down. Now even if he does defeat the Androids in his timeline, he will probably not even declare himself ruler. He’ll just turn around and smile and  _ serve you humans _ . Happily. That’s the tricky part about Earthlings; you worm your way into one's brain and make one think it was all one's own idea. No, I need to be rid of Trunks. Besides, I can still start over fresh with the young brat from my own timeline.

 

After, I think I’ll head over to the lookout, kill the other Z-fighters. Then, I'll wait so I can ambush Kakarot’s brat as soon as he comes out of the Spirit/Time room. It shouldn’t be hard. That brat is so kind and forgiving he will probably smile as I run him through.

 

Finally there’s the woman. Bulma. I haven't decided on what to do with her. I suppose I don't  _ have _ to kill her. If I take her by surprise, I can carry her with me wherever I decide to go next. She is weak, and unless she has time to prepare some form of weapon, she cannot oppose me.

 

And she has not had time to prepare, because she  _ trusts  _ me. She would never see such deceit coming from me. Not that I haven’t made my intentions clear from the start. And she certainly seems fine with misleading me for her own selfish reasons. Playing  _ fucking dead. _ So what if her ploy worked, so what if sending me out in space did turn me Super. Did she think she could buy my loyalty this way?

 

She too is a disappointment.

I hope Kakarot will at least provide a satisfying fight. Killing his friends should get him angry enough; killing his best friend and our sons even more so. If that doesn't prove my intentions then I don't know what will. 

 

That big cricket is still whining about how it wished it was perfect. Pathetic! There’s no sense in waiting. I’ll cut down that creature, then Trunks, and then the bald one. After that, I’ll head over to the Lookout, cut down everyone there, lock up the woman, and then ambush Kakarot and his brat when they come out of the Spirit/Time room. Yes, that would work. Ah, the Namek might provide a challenge but I think I can manage. I have time.

 

That’s right. I  _ do _ have time. Would it truly hurt to play around a little bit? Perhaps I should let the creature reach its perfect form. The bug will swallow the female android, like it did with her brother. That looked pretty nasty, and she certainly deserves some revenge for what she did to me, doesn't she? Heh.

 

That does sound a little satisfying. If I let it, then who knows? Perhaps, somehow, the hollow victory will become something a little more satisfying. Perhaps something will happen differently than I expect; perhaps I will find something to fill the void.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I say I was nearly done? oh boy.. still a bit to go I guess. some knots around chapter 68. lol. oh well.  
> thank you, meganechan and over8000 for beta. thank you for reading, and thank you for leaving a comment!


	44. 44 fraternity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I deleted the whole chapter and added like two lines about why the Saiyans 3rd class might be on a list. (halfway) which seems stupid but its perfect for a little start of a (miniature side) storyline I have coming up. so sorry-not-sorry!  
> special thanks 2 my betas meganechan and over8000!

 

“What the hell, Raditz?”

 

Vegeta couldn’t help but be baffled at where he found the third-class. Raditz had hidden away on the mining station's outer ring, in an archive room so ancient it must have existed even before the days of King Cold’s rule. The older Saiyan sat with his long legs stretched out under an old-fashioned table covered with out-of date tablets.

 

The older boy had grown again, probably another half a foot. But perhaps Raditz couldn’t really be called a boy anymore. He was an adult, with all the cocky assurance that went with it. He looked up from a stack of data pads and smiled crookedly. “And our prince rises from the ashes. How are you doing?”

 

“I’m good. Better than you, at least. You considering a career change to accounting?” Vegeta may have forced Raditz to gather information on a regular schedule; the two of them had spent days in similar rooms on Frieza's ship. Yet for a Saiyan to just plow through the archives on his own volition... “Seriously, you may be a lousy fighter, but no one needs an orangutan librarian.”

 

“I couldn’t sleep.” Raditz punctuated the statement by uncrossing his legs and bending forward to drop the tablet on the table. He rubbed at his heavy eyes with one hand.. “So, I’d thought I’d do something.”

 

“Oh good.” Vegeta countered, crossing both arms and legs as he leaned against one of the book-lined walls. “Tell me you’ve written my reports for me in advance.” Vegeta grinned widely at the idea. After-purge reports were nearly identical as far as data went, but using an old one and just changing the names and dates had gotten Vegeta reprimanded. He certainly wouldn’t mind someone taking over that boring task.

 

Raditz shook his head with a heavy blink. “Not quite.” He pushed the tablet Vegeta's way with a gesture. “Look, this mining colony doubles as a last refueling station for traffic into the Gamma quadrant. Nearly all Saiyan children sent out to purge in that direction went through this base.”

 

Vegeta frowned; he did not bother to look at the offered dataslate. “You’re not actually still looking for your brother?”

 

The third-class had the decency to look away. “Well, any survivors really. Anyway, Kakarot certainly wasn’t checked in at this base.”

 

Something bitter welled up in Vegeta's stomach when he heard the defeated tone in Raditz’s voice. It killed any feelings of jealousy, made him almost worry. At some level the prince had long accepted that he and his team were the last Saiyans in existence. He'd adjusted and gotten over it, but perhaps Raditz was not ready to face facts. So Vegeta challenged the other's work. “Fah. Like you’ve had enough time to search all the records already?”

 

“I don't need to. Saiyans passing through the station were flagged and put on a seperate list. There’s twenty-three from the last five years.”

 

Vegeta swallowed. “Why?”

 

“Who knows? Maybe just for the usual _physical checkup._ ” The big Saiyan rolled his eyes with a sneer. “The ones that came this way are all dead, though. That much I can cross-reference easily enough,.” he concluded with a shrug.

 

Ah, well if that cat was out of the bag… Vegeta grinned wickedly. “Not that much better to be sent out to purge over the nurseries after all, huh?”

 

Raditz locked gazes with his commander. His expression was serious, almost challenging.. “Mh. Makes you wonder why they bothered with the resources and a pod, if these odds were normal.”

 

“Well, whatever.” At least Vegeta had tried. “A couple of third-class kids wouldn’t be much use to me anyway.”

 

“This third-class kid just saved your sorry ass, didn't he?”

 

“Oh, right... right. Thanks.” If it had been anyone else, the prince would not have bothered, would not have cared, but this was Raditz; the only other Saiyan able to think in coherent sentences. Vegeta managed a mock bow. “Finally someone coming to _my_ rescue, instead of the other way around.”

 

Raditz snorted. “Had we known you were the Princess of all Saiyans locked in that spaceship we might have tried harder.”

 

“Ooh. Ouch. And here I was about to award you a medal.” Sarcasm dripped from the prince’s tone. Hell, without the third-class’s quick thinking Vegeta would have been left floating out in space, orbiting the dusty remains of a planet, frozen and dead by his own doing. But there was little reason to blow up the older Saiyans ego any further.

 

“Right. No hand in marriage or even a dukedom? The times we live in,” The other drawled, a slow grin spread over his features.

 

“It was going to say: ‘First ever useful third-class’. But I guess you don’t want it... How did you manage to get to me anyway? It had to have been pretty wild, right?” Vegeta couldn't really be sure. His memory was skewed. Yet he could imagine the amount of debris that must have been floating around, the amount of chaos his surprise demolition must have caused.

 

Raditz’s smile slipped. “Oh. Call it a hunch, shall we?” He looked away, forced a laugh. “Anyway, should it not say ‘The Only Third-class Alive’?”

Vegeta regarded his underling studiously. Something still bothered him: although Vegeta had finally noticed the trend of exhaustion in his team as a whole, with Raditz he was sure there was more up than just battle-fatigue. “What the fuck’s wrong with you, dumb-ass?”

 

Raditz shrugged once more, then fingered the tablet one last time before he stood and stretched. “Have you ever thought what it would be like to just disappear?”

 

“No,” Vegeta dismissed the notion honestly. “Besides, what would the point be? We can’t.”

 

“Kakarot did. He’s completely gone.”

 

“That’s because he’s dead, Raditz.” Vegeta tried to fix him with a stare, but the third-class again avoided eye-contact. “It’s what dead people do. They leave without a trace and let you deal with the mess they left behind.”

 

“I was just thinking…”

 

“No you’re not.” Vegeta hissed, some of the alarm he felt found its way into his voice. “You’re not thinking at all.” Dead people got lost; living ones were always found. Raditz had better not be planning on getting lost. “Your lack of sleep is clouding your judgement,” Vegeta accused.

 

The sudden crack of his scouter broke the pair apart, Vegeta broke out in a cold sweat as he opened a message addressed to his entire team. “Official message from Zarbon,” it blared out. “Level A clearance for Vegeta and his Saiyan team. Official notice to provide all fuel and provisions required. A direct order in the name of his Lord Commander Frieza for Prince Vegeta to return to headquarters ASAP. No detours. All needs for your speedy return are to be met by all responsible personnel. I will see you in three months, not a day later. Zarbon out.”

 

Well, that settled that. Vegeta stepped back, a little alarmed at how close he had stepped to Raditz without even noticing.  “Let’s go. Cryo will fix that insomnia of yours.”

 

Raditz shrugged then looked away, unconvinced. Yet he did get up and followed after Vegeta.


	45. catch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vegeta is seriously depressed..

It’s past midnight when I return… home… to Capsule Corp on a dark, starless night. I land on her balcony, falter a little, and struggle to open the door with only one working hand. Her silhouette stands quietly in the black room. Unmoving, until she sees me. What am I even doing here? The naked shadow answers me. “I want you.”

_ Well, here you go. I guess I came back. Meant to have two skulls with me; Cell’s under one arm and Kakarot’s under the other. Meant to proclaim myself king of this planet, and  _ dare  _ you to challenge me. _

 

Instead, I have nothing. I’m lost and defeated once more, but  _ her  _ side has won. Yet she’s not pointing it out, and I can hear her breathless smile as she moves close to whisper in my ear. “I need you.”

 

_ No you don't. Nobody needs this. This failure, this half-life. I certainly don’t. _ Yet she wraps her arms around me like she’s catching something precious. Something beautiful. Can’t she tell? If her eyes don’t work in the dark her sense of smell and touch should have warned her off. She’s hugging cracked blood and dried sweat. Rubbing her cheek in dirt.

 

“I missed you.” Bulma runs her hand around the hem of my armor, or what’s left of it. Then she starts to tug the shattered pieces off, and I wonder... w _ hy? Why would she miss any of this? Sure,  _ I _ missed this. Missed this stopper, because I need something pretty fucking big to fill the hole where my soul should be, but her... what did  _ she _ miss?  _

 

Being right? Getting one up on me? Can’t be that special. She’s clever and she understands the rules of this world. Outsmarting me is hardly a great feat. Kami, I wish she’d gloat. I wish she’d rub my nose in it; wish she would tell me she was right and I’m wrong.. I wish she’d tell me this was all part of some brilliant ploy; that I’m not imagining it, that she meant to catch me and chain me down without the means to escape.

 

“I’m so proud of you...” She tries to pull me with her to the edge of the bed. She tugs on my good arm and carefully steps around my other side; around the broken mess that hangs as useless and limp as I feel.

 

Yet I resist her pull, refuse to move. “Whatever for?”

 

Bulma stops, turns back to me, and I pull my hand away. Her voice is a little uneven as her fingers reach for my face. “Because you fought for our child.”

 

I snort. “He’s dead.” Not to mention I meant to kill him myself, or I think I did. Now, I’m not so sure what I planned. Because all my cleverly laid schemes have been broken and smashed and I have no one but myself and my actions—my completely  _ illogical  _ actions—to blame.  

 

Her hand freezes, like it met some impenetrable barrier. “I know.” She drops it, heavily, then makes her voice stronger. “But they’ll revive him.”

 

“Kakarot’s dead too,” I confess. “He won’t be coming back.”

 

It’s quiet, for a few seconds too long. Then she sighs, reaches for me again. “Yeah, I know.”

 

I jerk back a little, but she relentlessly follows me. I can’t tell if it’s some misplaced sense of honor that halts my feet after only one step; some fear of being chased out. Perhaps it’s the same hollow despair that made me seek her out, made me cave in and give up on that one promise that I had not yet broken. Because, yes; I told myself that I would return triomphant or not at all. Yet here I am. Whatever my reason, I let Bulma put that hand to my cheek; I even listen to her tell me, “you did your best. It’s good enough.”

 

_ Good enough? It’s good enough? _ I almost get angry again, because it reminds me why I could never be a part of this Earth squad. Because it was not  _ good enough _ . Everything, everything that went wrong out there was my fault. And if any of these people had a brain cell between them… no, that’s unfair. I’m the stupid one, isn't that right, human? Stupid, simpleton, simian... cannot even accept a win when it’s right in front of me. I had to go and ruin it, didn't I?

 

But what scares me most of all is, I _ still _ cannot explain it. I should never have let Cell become perfect. I should have killed him quick, moved on to the boy from the future, taken down the Namek, the midget, and then killed Kakarot and his brat. It was a simple plan. Why didn’t I implement it when I could? And why, when the thing went off the rails, did I fail to stand aside and wait for the last one standing, so I could take him down? For fuck’s sake why did I lose my cool over a kid that’s not even technically mine? 

 

And why, even if I fucked up my plans so bad that no one even knew I meant to betray them, has my stupidity been forgiven like it was nothing? You know, if any of my men would have fucked up as royally as I did — and no-one ever dared - but if they had, death would have been a mercy. They would have deserved it. I deserve it. I should have been left to rot. The whole lot of Earth’s useless defenders should have fucking spit on me while letting me bleed out slowly, because next to me... each and every one of them contributed more to the fight than I.

 

Instead they fed me senzu beans. Instead the woman sits me down and starts to tend to my injuries. In some strange mix of nursing and love-making she pulls the cloth and debris from my wounds gently and then places kisses on the cuts. Gently, carefully, by feel in the near-complete darkness. 

 

I wish she wouldn’t. I wish she’d just tear at the scabs, and pour disinfectant on them. Hell, maybe even smash the bottle over my head... Make it something biting and nasty too. I wish she’d call some of her idiot friends to forcefully have me removed from the compound. I wish she’d shine a fucking spotlight on my face and tell me there’s no place to hide here,  _ get your fucking head on straight and accept it _ . 

 

None of that happens, of course. I think I got a few angry words from the other fighters when I was in the midst of my stupidities, but after the fact? Nothing. Just smiles and forgiveness when I nearly lost it all for them. At least three times. Can’t they just...?

 

I want no part of it, these humans. 

 

She finally moves on to my busted arm. “Can you help me?” Bulma asks. She’s trying to set the bone with C.C. technology she probably patented after I had one accident too many. 

 

I reach out, almost thankful for the chance to do so, and shove my arm back against her mold. She clicks her tongue, tells me to be careful. Next she ties the splint in place and admonishes me that I’m too rough. I’d like to disagree, would like to say that it didn't hurt enough. Yet if I can't have that either, that’s fine. I’m more careful, more slow when setting the next break. 

 

King of Earth, who was I kidding? They already have a perfectly capable  _ dog _ to do the job. Who would need a  _ monkey? _ Besides, I’d need to defeat the leader, their champion. And where is he? Evaporated. Poof. Dead from removing an exploding Cell. 

 

Who would I even challenge now? Gohan? He’s  _ ten _ . Can I even stoop that low? No, and even if I did... then what? He’d either  _ let  _ me kill him and look sad while I did it, or he’d get serious and wipe the floor with me. And, damn it, the kid nearly bought it by saving  _ my _ life. Isn’t that just a little too ungrateful, even for me?

 

Sure, I helped him defeat Cell. A little bit, with that shove at the end there, but that hardly repays what I owed him. Because he had to… had to take a fucking blast meant to kill me, didn't he?

 

What does it mean when you’re saved?

 

I know what it means when you’re defeated.

 

I know what it means when you’re allowed to live…

 

But what does it mean when they  _ save _ you?

 

Perhaps this is the torture. Perhaps they  _ have  _ decided death is too good for me and I can't even disagree. Yeah, I had this coming. The weak deserve death, it is a gift to them. But me? I didn’t earn it. Besides, why would they even consider me a threat? I guess it makes sense to make me suffer for a long time.

 

Did the woman talk to them beforehand, maybe? ‘Hi, this is my new pet Saiyan. He’s stupid, and trigger happy. And a bit of an asshole, but try not to get him killed ok? I need him. For reasons.’

 

What fucking reasons? Well, she’s kissing me now, laying me down. Is this what she needs me for? Kami, she must be really,  _ really _ lonely, right? I bet scar-face was a lot less trouble. I finally find something to articulate. “You have the worst taste in men.” 

 

Bulma chuckles, makes light of it. “No I don’t.” She rubs her chest against me, the nipples of her full breasts grind on my raw skin. “Maybe the worst taste in Super Saiyans.” 

 

She straddles my chest, sits back, hands on hips. “Go on, show me.”

 

I groan, considering that another dream has shattered. Because somewhere in the back of my mind, behind my promise of not-to-come-here-not-to-come-anywhere-near-this-place-until-I-kill-Kakarot... I did mean to show her. Yes, yes. I was definitely going to show her the full glory when I either killed her or proclaimed her my property, my slave or... whatever. 

 

Well. This is less spectacular than I’d expected. Then again, when has anything ever lived up to my expectations? It’s just a fucking parlor trick now, because I doubt I’ll ever fight again. So, I do as I’m told and light up my Super Saiyan. A pretty fucking convenient replacement for a lightbulb, I guess. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the update took a while didn't it? between mini bang and getting my mind sorted on the last chapters, I guess I just wasn't ready to post. I also feel not enough people are reading this, and I've seriously been considering changing some things at the start. not plot wise; just to let ppl understand what kind of story this is at the start? well, I'm still thinking so your input is welcome!


	46. 46 camaraderie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> special thanks 2 my amazing betas!

It was a black, starless night on another rock that used to be a thriving planet when Vegeta realised he actually  _ hated _ space. All that time spent traveling the galaxies; yet it had always been just a black piece of nothing, hadn’t it? Why had he thought it pretty again, floating through that emptiness after he’d destroyed the planet of the Lessers? Vegeta couldn’t remember, and it just looked depressing to him now. Perhaps it was all the smoke, or the stench.

 

His team of Saiyans sat mute, eyes wide and blood-high long gone. Nion and Nappa walked among them with heavy tread, and took stock of injuries. A duty specifically reserved for the most seasoned warriors. The pair paused at Papple and flanked him with worried whispers, but Vegeta barely noticed the disturbance in his periphery. Ignoring his own predicament was taking the last of his resources. Nearby Raditz and the twins sprawled out bonelessly on the charred remains of a tree-house, or perhaps it had been one of the wooden elevated streets. It was hard to tell with what was left; a shame really. Yet it hardly mattered; no one took notice. Not even of the soot, blood or guts they sat in. There was no point; it had already stuck to them, gotten in their hair, inside their clothes.

 

Vegeta sat studiously unmoving on his rock, regarded his drenched gloves, and wrinkled his nose at the way the taste of blood had wormed its way into his mouth. Perhaps he had eaten these creatures while on that Oozaru high? He’d gone so wild that Vegeta would not be surprised if he had. Yet he didn't remember and that was more than a little embarrassing. Only lower classes lost control of themselves to such an extent.

 

Still, the indigenous species certainly had deserved it, even if the idea of eating those stinking things now made his stomach roil.  _ Fucking little bastards. _ They had put up quite the fight, considering how weak they were. Their tactics had been devious, nasty, and pointless. Why had they even bother trying to stave off the inevitable? They must have known their time was at an end when the Saiyans landed on their home world.

 

Vegeta swallowed thickly. He tried not to think, not to feel, when the pair of old warriors looked him over. Nappa addressed the elder from behind him with a tired sigh. “Well, this is going to need a med tank too. Just as well. If we don't get Papple’s eye taken care of, he’s going to lose it.” 

 

No way he was wasting any more time. Vegeta growled at the pair behind him without turning. “Like hell. We’ve got five other planets we will be passing on the way back to home-base. Papple can do without cryo in his pod, and he should be healed well enough by the time we make planet fall on Turush.” 

 

There was a pause, and finally Nion stepped around to face him. Vegeta glared up at the old man haughtily, unwilling to show he did not dare to move from his spot. Not that remaining still lessened the throbbing. It hurt, starting from the small of his back where the enemy had hit him with a projectile that had pierced his armor. The hot rocket-thing had struck Vegeta while he was in Oozaru-form, straight from behind, and had burst and leaked a burning fluid. A thin stream of the stuff had eaten its way down his armor, singed it away, and ate through his thick fur. That would have been bad enough, but then the fluid had leaked into the open air on his unprotected tail and ignited... 

 

Vegeta had gone into a blood-lust rage at that point, unthinkingly tearing to shreds everything and everyone he could get his hands on. A childish and humiliating tantrum, really. He was lucky Nion had pushed him into the water at some point, or Vegeta was sure he’d have been left with no tail at all. As it was, he hesitated to even look at it. From the base down to three-quarters of the way, he was in agony. Sweet Cold, he hoped they had packed a lot of painkillers from that mining station. 

 

That, however, did nothing to change the fact that they had work to do. Zarbon had placed orders for them to return to Frieza’s ship, and  _ they were _ . However there was no way Vegeta would pass on the chance to clear some planets off his list. “You two do your field-medic thing, and Papple and I will forgo cryo sleep. Then we can heal the old-fashioned way. We can still take care of the other planets.”

 

Nappa, ever the fool, joined back into the conversation. “Boss. He’ll lose his  _ eye _ . Besides, a scar at your back is a dishonor.”

 

Vegeta just snorted, but Nion spoke up in the sort of voice that would cause him grief. “Prince Vegeta.” 

 

And the teen commander groaned, because the Elder was obviously trying to manipulate him... as usual… but thNion’s tone was stronger than usual. “If we fix your tail here, we’ll need to remove the seared hairs, shave off most the rest and bandage it up in hopes that it heals well enough for the hair to grow back.”

 

“Well, get to work you fool.”

 

Nion did not relent. “ _ If _ it grows back. Your back will definitely scar. Papple will lose an eye. Then your plan requires the both of you to stay inside a tiny pod for nearly a month... without cryo sleep. Not to mention we are all aware that you have received direct orders to return to base without  _ detours _ .”

 

“The planets are on route,” Vegeta bit out.

 

“It’s four months of extra travel time. I doubt Lord Frieza would agree.” Nion had picked an odd time to grow a backbone.

 

“Look,” Nappa addressed the elder, “I’m sure Prince Vegeta is only thinking of our welfare. If he feels it is important to finish our work first, it is our duty to obey.”

 

“Is it in our best interest, though?” Nion fixed his commander with a questioning stare, and Vegeta snarled in reply.

 

Vegeta could do the math. Two months to Frieza and two months back, while debt was mounting and no work was getting done; four months lost and nothing to show for it. They’d have to come back here anyway. His way had them clearing six planets in six months... It would get their average up, if nothing else. “Papple can fight just as well with one eye. And I hardly see the shame of getting ambushed from behind. It’s not like I was running away from anything.”

 

Nion stomped his foot down, angrily. “We are going to compromise our soldiers because of your disgusting schedule? Because your little wager with Frieza? A wager we cannot hope to win, and yet, you have us _ ignoring direct orders. _ .”

 

_ LIttle wager? _ Vegeta’s anger perked him up, as always. He was on his feet before he even noticed the pain. The prince grabbed the Saian Elder by his armor, towering over the man from up on top his rock. “Do you think this is a  _ game _ ?” Oh, but wait, Vegeta knew what was going on. “You’re afraid. Because of Zarbon’s message. Supposedly with Frieza’s approval..”  

“Oh, leave it Nion.” Papple cut in, eyes on the sky instead of on his superiors’ fighting. “I can fight with one eye, and it’s not like I have a wife to complain about my diminished looks. I’d rather you went and found Jack. He’s run off again.”

 

“He’s probably in his pod already,” Vegeta hoped. “Ready for take-off, like we all should be.”

 

Papple snorted. “Jack is  _ never _ in his pod. Not if he can help it, at least. Can someone go look, at least?”

 

Vegeta looked around in annoyance, then sat down gingerly with his tail stretched out carefully behind him. Nappa handed him a bottle and some pills and he dry-swallowed them before taking a gulp of the liquid, then nearly spitting it back out. “What the fuck is this sludge?”

 

“Liquor, boss, you gonna want that.” 

 

Vegeta was pretty sure he didn’t, but held on to the the bottle regardless. “Coli, go find that dumb-ass Jack. Check his pod first.”

 

Coli stretched, then got up, scratching at his stubble. It didn't really count as a beard, but at least it helped Vegeta distinguish and notice the differences between Coli and his sister. Like the way she smiled at him now, for instance.

 

“Very well,” Nion intoned, “Raditz, hold his tail. Kura, distract our boy. I’ll take care of him while Nappa fixes Papple’s burns. As far as that’s possible. With these resources.” Nion made it clear enough he wasn’t happy, but Vegeta ignored that. He nodded and hoped he wouldn’t cry in front of his men, or the woman.

 

One minute later, Vegeta was already second-guessing himself. Kura had taken one of his arms at the elbow; he gripped back hard and kept his eyes on her face. “Doing well,” she purred, a genuine smile on her face. She was obviously impressed. Hell, Vegeta himself was impressed. It felt like Nion was flaying his tail. His fucking goddamn tail.

 

His eyes prickled, but Vegeta blinked them away. Perhaps another swig of the liquid Nappa had given him? It was disgusting, sure, but it had numbed his throat all the way to his knees. Maybe if he had a little more, that feeling would also spread to his tail. 

 

“Hurts like a were-bitch, I know,” Nion answered Vegeta’s intake of breath. “And that’s just shaving the singed hairs around the third degree burns. This is going to get a lot worse, my  _ prince _ . Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

 

Vegeta wanted to reprimand Nion for his tone, but Raditz defended him before he could compose himself. “With all due respect, Elder, whether we’re close or far the Ice-jin will cause us misery. I’d rather stay far away, if possible.”

 

“Nobody asked you, third-class.” Nion dismissed, but Vegeta growled both at those words and at the pain from the plucking. Then Coli returned from behind a burned pile of wood. His odd approach thankfully halted Nion in his work. The male twin carried Jack’s attack pod over his head. 

 

“Fuck bro,” Kura quipped. “Didn't have to bring him with. Coulda just told us ya found him.”

 

“Oh, he’s not in here, sis.” Coli dropped the pod roughly then offered both Vegeta and his twin a lopsided grin. “‘Prolly won’t go near this thing, given a choice. Got a real problem on our hands here.” With that, the second-class opened the pod door to reveal the insides - or what was left of them. All the furnishings had been ripped to shreds. The displays that usually lined the walls and kept Vegeta entertained with intel videos and basics like language teachings had been smashed to bits. Even the thick glass in the door, now above Vegeta’s head, had been cracked. Vegeta nearly forgot about the pain in his tail.

 

Raditz came to his side and whistled at the mess. “What the hell happened? Did he do this himself?”

 

Vegeta cursed internally. He knew what this was: cabin fear. Vegeta had heard of it. Cabin fear was caused by too much time in a pod. It was the main reason only the weakest babies were ever sent into space, the reason the Council back in the day of Vegeta-sei had advocated open, empty spaces for their young ones, and why men were sent home on leave as well. He’d heard the disease described as a nasty affection of the mind that tore a man up from the inside. Oh, of course, the only known cure was a long period of leave in an open area. A year or two usually did it. 

 

But Vegeta didn't have a year, did he? “As soon as you bunch are done here, find Jack and put him on gas before we take off, you hear? Up his dosage, and make sure he doesn’t wake up before we make our next planetfall.”

 

“Are you sure that’s healthy?” Raditz tilted his head. “I mean, there’s probably a reason we usually wake up at set intervals.” 

 

“I don't know. It’s probably better than punching through the outer glass in the vacuum of space, don’t you think?” Vegeta pointed with one hand in annoyance at the cracked glass. Damn, but that idiot Jack had done a number on his pod. What a mess.   

 


	47. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to stop digging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some changes to chapter 1 and 3, and moved some stuff around for 1-7.  
> I'll be rereading the rest and updating that too, but only for small additions. you do not NEED to reread. I did make the story premise a little clearer, but if you got this far I think you know what this is.
> 
> special thanks to my betas over8000 and meganechan720  
> don't forget to stop by and review!

Yamcha's messing with my brat in the grass. Making silly faces at it. Dende, it’s annoying and probably scarring the boy for life. Yet I can't really complain, can I? Can't really say anything now. Useless waste of space he might be, he’s not quite as useless as I. Still, it distracts me enough that a foot connects straight in the center of my face. My nose makes a distinct grinding noise, bone pushed to the side, as I absorb the impact on instinct.

 

“Ooh shit, sorry!” Krillin exclaims, voice cracking, “are you okay?” He drops his battle stance immediately, frowns up at me in confusion. “I don't see how you let that one pass. You’re not mad, are you?”

 

The little earthling winces and raises his hands. His guard is like the parody of a defence this time. Yamcha too makes a fool of himself by pulling my child towards him comically, like. Like he has yet to figure out whether he’ll protect the boy or use him as a shield against me. I just blink and, dart my tongue out at the trail of liquid that runs from my nose. It’s dDefinitely blood. “Your girlfriend hits harder,” I manage.

 

“Ok.” Krillin and Yamcha trade a worried glance, the smaller of the two stepsping forward cautiously. “ _Not_ mad. Are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

 

I barely manage to contain a barked laugh. I’m not okay at all. I’m a fucking useless weak waste of space, and no amount of training is ever going to fix that. No amount of work, or Zenkais, or Super level over Super Saiyan can ever fix that. Want to ask why, human?

 

Because it’s not my _body_ that’s weak, is it? Not my Ki. Not my techniques. No. No, it’s my brain that’s betraying me. No... not even my brain. My strategies and thinking were correct. Had been, until it was time to bite the bullet. It is some deep rooted thing underneath my thoughts. My very _soul_ is setting me up to failure, and my brain is just covering up for it.

 

“Maybe you’d like to take a break, get a drink,” the monk tries, eyes scanning mine.

 

“No, let’s keep going.” Because I’m not going inside. I don’tDon’t fucking belong in there; it all went to pieces because I went in there, didn't it? Fucking Capsule Corp. Turned me into this indecisive worthless goo. That’s right—that’s right. It’s not _me_ . It’s them. I should be angry, demanding a spaceship so I can leave. Leave? Where would I go? Why won't this pair _leave me alone?_ Perhaps if I should try and project something that resembles my old self. I snarl down at my opponent, ignoring the crack in my voice. “Maybe if you try and throw an actual punch I’d feel more compelled to step aside.”

 

Because so far this spar is doing me little good. That last hit was hardly enough to reach that traitorous skull of mine. They’ll need a hell of a lot more to bang this engine back into shape. I’m not even sure the human can provide it, but I’ll take what I can.

 

With a sigh, we the bald man takes a few experimental jabs and, then after a while fists are flying my way quite expertly. He’s not all that bad, you know? For a human... And I do dodge and weave, until a strike sails my way that should do some actual damage. I drop my guard. It’s a brilliant plan. My mind is weak. Toughen it up, or maybe get some serious brain-damage. Drown out the voices, the self-loathing, and finally get an inch of what I deserve. Yet again the hit is disappointing, doesn’t even put me to the ground. I’m certain this time Krillin pulled his punch at the last moment.

 

After a disoriented blink and a step to regain my balance, I find both fighters on their feet. Yamcha stares down at me with the brat on his hip, Krillin up with his mouth hanging open. No sound comes out until the monk crosses his arms and steps back. Apparently our spar is over. Which is just as well; there’s not a hint of rage left in me. “Seriously, Vegeta. You’re _freaking me out_. And not, I mean, in the usual way you freak me out. Hell; you’ve been freaking me out ever since you got to Earthour planet in that ball of a spacecraft of yours.”

 

“Thanks? That’s... comforting.” Not half as comforting as it would be if he’d deign to rearrange my face, but like I said, I’ll take what I can get at this point. Oh Dende, did I say that out loud? Since when am I this fucking bad at charades?

 

The short man actually cringes. “There, see? Now you’re _totally_ freaking me out. Next level shit.”

 

I cross my arms and glower; try to direct my scowl at the little fighter, but struggle to meet his gaze, to the point that my eyes finally land on the grass instead. I shouldn't care; _don't_ care what these two think, but the humiliation is so real I feel my cheeks heat up. Fuck it. I can’t believe I’ve even lost my ability to bullshit. And I’m tired. So fucking tired of it all.

 

Yamcha tries to laugh it off. “Maybe what we need is a good meal. Why don’t you two go and see what Panchy’s prepared? I’ll be in after I put Trunks to bed. It’s nap time.”

 

I’d like to tell them I’m not hungry, but what’s the point? They’d just fuss more, worry more. Kakarot’s friends really are like vultures to a carcass. Except I know they’re not here to eat me. They’re fucking CPR-vultures, trying their damndest to get me back on my feet with encouraging smiles and friendly conversation. I don’t know why they keep bothering.

 

Panchy is hard at work in the kitchen, cooking. Bulma is at the table as well, with a coffee and a cigarette. I thought she’d quit. Oh well, who cares. Not going to complain to her either. At least she let me live here again after the clusterfuck of deeds that we now only refer to as ‘Cell’. I’m reasonably sure she’s the reason the two Earth-fighters started coming over again. I think she called them, probably as soon as I started avoiding her, which was right after Future Trunks returned home.

 

Bulma frowns at me when I enter, and I worry that she is concocting things again. Making plans b. Beyond getting her friends to —what was the expression-— ‘cheer me up’. I mean, I hate it when she does that. I wish I’d had the strength to return to the GR and restart my training , just to stop her from worrying, because there’s little point to it beyond that. Still, I bet she'd get off my case if I could at least _pretend_ to train. I need to pretend everything is fine because I’m worrying the woman. Heck, I’m worrying _Yamcha_ , and he _hates_ me... doesn't he?

 

But I can't be bothered. I'm just so tired. Tired of pretending and tired of their kindness, their constant forgiveness. Why can’t they see how tired I am? The mother asks me questions, and I try my best to answer them. I really do. It still just comes out as half-grunts, but she seems fine with that. Soon after, I have a plate packed to the ceiling placed in front of me. Only now I realize I should have been more articulate; I still don’t have much of an appetite.

 

“Would you be more interested if I asked Gohan over?” Krillin is speaking. I really wish he wouldn’t.

 

“What for?”

 

“To spar with you, of course.” He gestures with exasperation. Panchy places a far more manageable meal in front of him, but Krillin just grabs his chopsticks and continues with them in hand. “Maybe you’ll get more -ah, _into it_ with another Saiyan?” He blinks at me, like that is supposed to get a reaction out of me. “Also, it’ll be like old times. Like back on Namek? I’m sure Gohan would be happy for something to take his mind off... you know.”

 

The silence stretches as three pairs of eyes pin me, like I’m supposed to fill it. Fill the fucking Kakarot-shaped hole in the world I made; made not by defeating the thirdthrid-class, but by failing at everything. Like I couldcan fill in anything. Finally, Krillin takes a shuddering breath. “Well anyway, he really respects you.”

 

I snort at him; the delusional little liar. Why would Gohan respect me? And for that matter, two can play that game. Hell, why would I respect _him?_ “He’s not a real Saiyan. Not even a real fighter.” Gohan is an emotional little human boy, who can only be strong-armed into showing his true strength by threatening all he loves. Which is, for lack of a better term, _everything._ I mean, seriously, that boy cares about every pathetic unworthy bugger on this planet, no matter how many times he’s been wronged by them.

 

Seriously, why did he have to _save_ me?

 

Yes. Okay. Gohan wants to save everyone. Yet I was detrimental to the fight. I mean, there’s useless, and then there’s counterproductive. Counterproductive, as in measuring ‘usefulness’ on a negative scale. Compared to me, even Yamcha was more useful, just by staying out of it, and Krillin was more useful by playing medic. Although, as a senzu-dispenser he kinda fucked things up when he gave me some. A seriously bad mistake. I’m trying to be mad about that too.

 

I can’t, though. I’m too tired. I have half a mind to ask if it’s okay if I just go to bed and just leave the food here, but the Prince of all Saiyans doesn’t ask or need anyone’s permission for anything, does he? In fact, now that I’m the last of _all_ Saiyans I am completely and totally free; even any obligation to my people is gone. No master, no subjects, nothing.

 

I guess I still wasn’t ready for that. Not ready, because all it does is make me feel sick. Namek really was the last time my life made sense, so perhaps I simply cannot operate like this? Perhaps if I forgo sleep and food for a week or two I’d remember myself. But instead I sit here and implore my roiling stomach to at least allow me to pretend I can still eat.

 

Dende, I miss Kakarot. I bet I could have at least counted on him to eat my food for me, but. But why would I miss that loser? I hardly even knew him. No, I miss the others a whole lot more; the twins, Jack, Papple. Nion and his stupid advice. Even that half-wit traitor Nappa. Oh, and Raditz most of all. I’d wish him back if I could, you know, but I’d only dare to if he was whole. In mind, I mean. Anything less would be too cruel. But with Raditz, it was impossible to tell when the madness first started. Perhaps he was born a little unhinged. Well, he was always special. I wonder, if he hadn’t been stepped on since the very start, would he have been more like Kakarot?

 

“Vegeta, dear?” It’s the mother. She’s right next to me now. I hadn’t even heard her talk to me, didn't notice her coming close. “You have something on your face, right there…”

 

I raise my hand reflexively, to smear away any blood or something that might offend her, but when I see my own palm I freeze. I’m not wearing any gloves. Why am I not wearing my gloves? They’re supposed to keep my hands clean. Keep the blood off. Keep them soft and royal, but I’m not wearing any. Probably haven’t been wearing any for a long time and I’m developing calluses and there’s dirt and cuts and... now I’m just going to add my own blood to that? Disgusting...

 

Before I even realise, Panchy takes a kerchief to my face and dabs at it, while she comments: “It’s perfectly alright dear. My honey and daughter come in to eat covered in all sorts of grime all the time. There, there…”

 

She bends over me, shields me from the others at the table. I should tell her off; Panchy is completely in my personal space. Yet I doubt I have a voice left. As she raises my chin with a finger, she gives my nose a final jab, and then uses another corner to rub around my eyes. It’s wet there too, but I don't remember getting cut.

 

When I meet her eyes I notice a little shake in her hands and the way she blinks too much. Is the mother about to cry? Is she afraid? She seems afraid. Although Panchy had plenty of reasons to fear for her life before, I’m not going to do anything now... I’m just confused. She just smiles, weakly. “See, all fixed up and handsome again.”

 

“Leave off, mom.” Bulma pulls at the back of her mother’s dress with one hand as she furiously stamps out her cigarette with the other. “He doesn't get what you’re doing anyway.” With a slam to the table Bulma stands, pinches my cheek, and pulls me by it as she screams in my ear: “Alright! Enough is enough.”

I’m forced to stand, which only brings me closer to her rant. There’s an intake of breath from the Krillin, yet all I can manage when she pauses for breath, is a weak response. “Was that supposed to hurt?” Because it did, but not nearly enough.

 

Bulma pauses, releases me as she blinks, then puts her fists to her hips as she steps closer. “Do you even know what you did wrong?”

 

 _I lost?_ Ho, but that’s hardly the main issue. I can’t even begin to explain. I’m certainly not ready to say it out loud, but at least she’s mad at me. At least she’s screaming. It’s the first sliver of normalcy in my life, of what I deserve. “Listen here,” I straighten my back, “woman. My choices in battle are my own. Cell...”

 

She shakes her head, finger prodding my chest: “Oh, please. Try harder. Back it up a little. You fucked it up long before that.”

 

Ooh. It’s one of those. It’s a _‘Do you know why this is wrong…?’,_ or maybe a _‘haven’t you learned anything?’,_ a _‘cantyoudoanythingright, boy?!’_ Perhaps? Should I write a report? Does she expect me to write a report? Where would I even begin?

When I let Cell get perfect? Or, wait. Back up. I got beat up by some blonde girl. Planned to double-cross you guys and planned to kill my own son. Failed at that too, got Kakarot killed, failed to _protect_ my son. Went into a very embarrassing barbarian suicidal rage because of that. Had to be rescued. Again. Contributed next to nothing. Got outclassed by a nine-year old halfbreed... Wait, I think I’ll need to make a list.

 

Bulma nods at my silence. “You’re almost there. The truck driver? Ring any bells?”

 

“The what?” I blink back at her unmoving shape.

 

“You killed a truck driver, remember?” She momentarily breaks her eye contact, sending a scathing glare at Yamcha as he enters, sans child. He quickly sits down at the dining table without even a sound. More audience for this comical tragedy. I hardly notice at this point.

 

Of all the things she’s angry over… of all the ways I’ve failed her, myself and everything I’ve ever stood for... “You’re angry at me because I killed some inconsequential, useless human by mistake?”

 

“No one is useless, Vegeta,” she assures me with a wry smile.

 

Actually _everyone_ is useless. Useless, weak, and inconsequential… We all are. But there’s wrong answers, and there’s right answers at the wrong time. So I only glower back, try to keep my pose both menacing and relaxed, my back straight. She stares me down with a challenging look like she’s daring me to rise to the bait, a nasty spark in her eye.

 

I do notice she looks stunning, this way. And I’ve missed her, these last few weeks. Why did I start to evade her after my unwanted return? Oh, I know. I came back to her so she’d fill the hole in me, complete me, fix me. But once she tried I realised the truth: I’m not just missing a piece, my soul is a fuming pile of garbage. There’s nothing worthy to fix. Yet now, with all that anger directed at me, I still feel compelled to try and deliver. I make an effort and raise my chin to stare her down. “Why does he matter?”

 

Again her eye sparks, and a nasty smile spreads across her face. “Let me ask you something, Vegeta: what does pride and honor actually mean to a Saiyan?”

 

Oh. It was a trap, was it? I wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be in this sorry state, lamenting in it, if I had a clue. Would I? I try and keep the confidence in my voice, though, as I give the learned answer. “Honor is strength. Pride comes from proving strength.”

 

From surviving. From winning. From taking. From protecting what you’ve taken as yours…

 

“Oh, is that all? So keeping your _word_ means nothing to a Saiyan?” Bulma looks triumphant. Like she’s won this. Because she knows my answer. Because _this_ is her trap.

 

I see it, and I cannot help but think she’s out of her mind. This setup is faulty. I can cut her off. Cut her off with one universal truth. _Never trust a Saiyan._ Everybody knows that right? AltThough my father said that was slander. But then he broke his word as well, didn't he? And yet, as much gratification as it would give me to prove her logic faulty, I find somehow I would find more in proving _them_ wrong. “I keep my word.”

 

“So I suppose you forgot? You promised me that you would not kill anyone before taking care of the androids.” She nods, as if understanding my puzzled expression. “You’re going to fix it this time, you know. You’re going to make it right.”

 

“Alright!” Krillin pumps his fist in the air, obviously excited. “I’ll go get the dragon radar! This is going to be so cool!”

 

Bulma turns from me to fix the monk with a sad look. “Oh, no, I’m sorry Krillin. I think it’s important Vegeta fixes his mistakes himself for once. I’m only going along to chaperone.”

 

What? What is she suggesting? Some kind of penance? Is she crazy? Is she trying to press me into service for some form of menial labor? Does she actually think I’d lower myself to volunteer work? That sounds a lot more painful and uncomfortable than getting myself clobbered by some weak human. Ah. Which is probably why it is exactly what I deserve...

 

“That’s okay, Blue.” Yamcha smiles. “Want me to take care of little Trunks while you two are away?”

 

“No, actually. Thank you, but no.” Bulma smiles at the two fighters and puts an arm around my stunned form. “I think I will take Trunks, and this will be like a family field trip! We need to make a wish, and we’re going to do it the _classic_ way.”


	48. Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks 2 my betas, meganechan and over8000. welp,   
> please enjoy!

By next planetfall, Vegeta was in the worst mood. His entire team knew not to question him after his last tirade when Nion asked  _ again _ why they were making a detour if Zarbon had placed  _ specific orders to head straight back to Frieza’s ship _ . And so, no more questions were asked. Vegeta flew against the stormwind surrounded by a team that was probably as miserable and angry as he. At least everyone was wise enough to stay quiet about it; they were so silent he nearly felt alone.

 

Somewhere far below lay cracked canyons and fissures, jagged new cliffs that suggested the constant change in the land below. This planet would not fetch much of a price; tectonic activity made living in the lowlands dangerous, for earthquakes constantly raised mountains only to collapse and reform them again. Up high was even worse. At least below, the deep indents in the ground gave some shelter to these unrelenting sandpaper winds. Up where they flew was the true hell. The dust in the air darkened the sky, even when they had been flying under a bright hot sun. Here on the shadow side, visibility was close to zero. But at least the heat was more manageable.

 

And so they flew, senses nearly useless, and used their scouters to make sure they did not lose each other in the wild sand soup. It was a mind-numbing and boring task, hunting for any survivors their scouters might pick up. And lonely too; any talk was kept to a professional minimum, and the few comments Vegeta’s comrades made radiated animosity. 

 

At this point Vegeta was about ready to tell them to speak up, pointless as it was. He was sure that Raditz would be on his side, but a third-class wouldn’t get a vote in this, even if his opinion suited the prince. The twins never had anything useful to say even at the best of times, and the same was true for Papple. As for Jack, the big first-class was still too groggy to fly in a straight line, let alone hold a coherent conversation. And Nion? The last thing Vegeta needed was  _ another lecture. _

Then there was Nappa. Good old Nappa; always able to get Vegeta to second-guess himself whenever he had such stupid... feelings. Because when the elite veered closer to Vegeta he could hear snippets of the big man’s grouching through the dusty wind. This dissipated any guilt or loneliness in the young commander and replaced them with a familiar annoyance. Of course, throwing a scathing glare the elite’s way with sand-clogged slits for eyes had no effect. Even if Nappa had enough of a brain for such a look to clue him in, not even the prince’s vehemence could cut through the ochre blanket that sliced at their skin.  _ Fucking sand. _

 

Coupled to the unease his men obviously felt at disobeying orders was the fact that Vegeta had already failed to keep to his own word; his own plan for healing. And there was no denying the prince felt he’d let them all down, for all he would have had to do was hold out those  _ few days traveling _ in his pod for his tail to heal. If only he had, Vegeta would not have to endure those little razors that found their way through his bandages and tore at the scabs. But he’d caved after only two days. Two days in a cramped little pod that had felt like an eternity, with nothing to do and no space to move. Vegeta had only managed to doze off once, near the end. And only by blocking out his discomfort with his last painkillers and all of the booze. The drug-induced nightmare had ruffled him enough that fifteen minutes later, with nothing but confused dream memories to distract him from the pain, he had caved and turned on the cryo.

 

Yet Papple  _ had _ held out. All that remained of his eye and the surrounding burns was an ugly flame-like scar with a black pit in the middle. It made Vegeta feel like a weak failure to look at it. At least since everyone had decided not to speak to Vegeta beyond the cordial minimum, no one had called him out on it either. Not even Nappa had dared to.

 

Nappa did, however, complain about this purge. And apparently he meant to be heard, for although the man flew only feet away, he chose to use the scouter-link to question Vegeta over the team’s channel. His voice could be heard clearly through the device: “Boss, I thought you said this would only take a day? I think we’re taking more than a day…”  

 

Well, Vegeta supposed with making it public like this ignoring the big idiot was out. With a withering sigh, Vegeta decided it might be simpler just to answer. “It  _ would _ have taken just a day. We were supposed to go Oozaru, if it wasn’t for this bloody dust-wind.”

 

There was a harrumph, a pause, and everyone continued on their way in silence for a full minute before Nappa again had to speak up. “Why  _ don’t _ we go Oozaru? I thought you said there was going to be a full moon? I  _ want _ to go Oozaru. And you said we needed to hurry.”

 

“Oh, you  _ remembered. _ ” Vegeta ground his teeth, looked around the silhouettes around him. All flew on and kept completely quiet. “Well indeed. There  _ is _ a full moon.”

 

Nappa actually had the gall to sound surprised. “Well, why aren't we changing?”

 

“I don’t know, Nappa.” The sarcasm in Vegeta’s tone was probably lost on the elite half-wit, but the prince couldn't suppress it. “Maybe it’s because we can’t see the moon?”

 

Another pause that hinted at how long it took the brain-damaged elite to process this information. “Well, where is it?”

 

“The moon, Nappa? Well, it’s usually up in the sky somewhere.” It nearly hurt to communicate with the man. Were they really even the same species?

 

Again a pause, again too long. “Should I fly higher? Think I’ll see it then?”

 

Vegeta felt a pang in his chest that might have been hope. Or murderous rage. “Probably, Nappa. Why don't you go try?”

 

The big elite needed another moment to digest this; then he veered off into the heights and quickly disappeared from sight. Raditz replaced him but chose to come in close and yell in Vegeta’s ear instead of using the team’s shared channel. “You know there isn’t enough air up there. He won't be able to breathe.”

 

“Well, I’m sure he’ll come down on his own if there’s not.” Vegeta had a hard time caring.

 

Raditz, however, hesitated. “Look, I really think we need to stick together. Remember. I had a... a hunch back at that planet with the Lessers?”

 

“You... have another hunch...?” Vegeta swallowed, a worried pit forming in his stomach.

 

Raditz dropped back to avoid looking him in the eye, but nodded. Evasive.. Vegeta snarled back at the third-class, convinced there was more to it... But... he’d still better take Raditz seriously. Vegeta touched his scouter. “Nappa...” he called. 

 

Then he found no air left to continue speaking, and hit the ground. Disorientation gave way to confusion after a long moment in the sand, tufts swinging lazily around him, sheltered from any winds. It was impossible; Vegeta was at ground level, in one of the deep canyons. The eerie and sudden quiet was painful, the ghost of the wild still in his ears. And up there, miles above the crater he'd inadvertently created. How did he get here? It was like he’d teleported, like he’d fallen without moving... A small, dark-green shape stood over him, blinking four eyes while it placed its hands on its hips with a pleased grin.

 

“Well, hello there,” the creature said. “You must be Prince Vegeta.”

 

With a few quick breaths, Vegeta came up to his knees and then slowly crouched to a battle stance. He didn't know this creature, but it was wearing PTO armor and that could only mean one of two things. One, if he was lucky, this was just some stranded or AWOL soldier, or two...

 

“Zarbon called me away from my mission, having a hissy-fit, so I’m kind of in a bad mood. I’ll be taking you back to Lord Frieza now, but please resist so I can justify beating the shit outta you.” the little green thing proclaimed, hands on hips.

 

Or two, the option that Vegeta dreaded: this creature had been sent to retrieve him. Vegeta swallowed and slowly brought his finger to his scouter. “I’m down he—” He began, then stood dumbfounded, feeling at the place where his scouter had been.

 

The small creature grinned at him wickedly, and brought Vegeta’s scouter up to his mouth. “Hello, you monkeys. This is Guldo. Your prince is down below. If you feel compelled to fight for him, please do. Or, you can drop to your knees and beg for forgiveness. But I’m dragging this monkey home, and I’m going to beat you all bloody either way.”

 

Vegeta clicked his tongue and pretended not to be panicking inside. Because how had this Guldo creep gotten him down here? How had it managed to steal his scouter? And why the hell wasn’t it even  _ worried _ about fighting a whole Saiyan squad? “Awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

 

In answer, the alien gave him another self-satisfied smirk, and in a gesture of complete contempt, then tossed the scooter back at him. "I am now a member of the  _ most Elite force in the galaxy. _ Trust me, I can back it up. "

 

Guldo didn't look like much. Round, even smaller than Vegeta, and with four eyes. Seriously. What did it need four eyes for? But it stood. with its chest thrust out and grinning at him widely, until his squad came barreling down and broke through the thick winds up high. Then suddenly, it disappeared…

 

And then reappeared a blink of the eye later, right at Vegeta’s side. Either that, or it had teleported. Vegeta wasn’t sure. But his entire team changed angles and barreled to the ground just as Vegeta had a moment before. The creature smiled at him, as Vegeta jumped back and assumed a defensive position. 

 

“I know a little song. It goes something like this…” Guldo stated happily, as Vegeta’s men hit the ground around him. 

 

_ “15 little monkeys went to town. _

_ Rolled onto the freeway in their fight, _

_ 14 knew about the traffic light.  _

_ -Boom- another one down.” _

Guldo cackled loudly, waiting for the Saiyans to pick themselves up. When the last of Vegeta’s men stood up, they attacked as one; a synchronised unit, honed by years of working together. Yet just as his fist should have met its target, Vegeta lost track of the creature again... because something or someone had roundhoused him in the jaw. He was sure of that; as he skidded and flipped to his feet. But how...? Guldo was not that strong; Vegeta’s scouter would have warned him if he was... So Guldo shouldn't be this fast either, at least not so fast Vegeta and his entire team couldn’t see his movements at all. So why were they losing?

 

“Have you figured it out yet? I’m  _ better _ than you Saiyans. You don't have a chance. No fucking wonder you’re nearly extinct. Just lay down and take it. Ooh!” The creature panicked, only for a second, as Nappa finally appeared and joined his team in the fight. The brute’s fist came down straight from above, as he screamed loudly. Sadly, he hit nothing but bedrock before Nappa was dealt a hard blow as well. Soon all the Saiyans went flying again, the twins even hit each other. This time, Vegeta managed to stay on his feet, though he’d had to have been hit in the stomach.

 

“Fooh,” Guldo breathed, “close one. Now where was I?” The creature paused, then smiled.

_ “ _ Oh yeah.

 

_ “9 little monkeys went to bed. _

_ They went to sleep, bone tired ache,  _

_ 8 little monkeys knew how to wake. _

_ Rrrrrr!, another one dead.” _

 

Vegeta backed up another step, and found Raditz close by. “We’re going to need some kind of plan, but I don't understand the thing’s technique.”

 

Raditz shrugged. “Perhaps we won’t need to. Do you think you can make it to that tear between those walls?” The older Saiyan pointed up, to the jagged outlines of rocks. Indeed, one part of the rocks had collapsed, creating a narrow opening that reached down perhaps a hundred feet, turned to a line and then closed to nothing at the team’s current height on the canyon floor. Beyond the cliffs, and through the opening, Vegeta could see those hard sand winds still raging.

 

“What good will that do?”

 

“Just trust me, okay?” 

 

Vegeta nearly groaned. He didn’t like this plan. It meant he had to literally turn tail and run from his enemy while his whole team watched.. But again, he lost track of all of them; his head whipped from side to side as he and every other Saiyan was sent flying in what seemed to be random directions.

 

That deceptively dangerous creature stood grinning up at him, fists to his hips once more “Come on, then.”

 

With a growl, Vegeta flew up, towards the hole. He didn’t get far though, before another kick hit him square in the back. “Where are you going, monkey?”

 

This time however, with his ki-guard up, Vegeta kept to the air. His men also started to move with their commander, trying to protect him. With Vegeta fighting a retreat focussed on defence, the rest of the squad bore the brunt of the alien’s attacks. And that was just so wrong.. The Prince was the strongest. He needed to carry the fight. Yet all Vegeta did was snarl in frustration as the impossibly small creature grabbed Nappa around the neck. It couldn’t even reach the full way around with its chubby short arms, but Nappa was dazed and breathing heavily. 

 

“Where you going, Prince? I know they say Saiyans can't be trusted, but to turn tail and leave your own to die?”

 

The hole was still so very far up, winking deceptively at Vegeta. “I’m not running,” the teen prince screamed. Then he fired off a blast that nicked only Nappa as Guldo smoothly moved to the side. Vegeta moved forward to charge, but then three more Saiyans were on top of the small alien. Nappa too shook his head, and moved to attack once more.  _ The hole. _ Vegeta decided,  _ stick to the plan,  _ and started upwards once more. 

 

Guldo huffed, obviously running out of breath. “Fucking persistent apes,” he panted, after he’d once again managed to beat down the Saiyan squad. 

 

The thing was after him again; an elbow buried itself into Vegeta’s cheek, but its strikes weren't strong enough anymore to completely halt Vegeta’s ascent, and they were slowly progressing towards the top of the rock wall. Fifty feet. Forty feet. Vegeta grinned. He wasn’t certain what he would do once he’d reached his goal, but he knew that he could make it, knew he  _ would  _ make it.

 

Until suddenly Vegeta’s vision turned blood-red as he was forced to spin out of control in the air. A blood curdling scream tore out of his throat without his permission when Guldo attacked from behind and grabbed his bandaged tail, clawed hand digging through linen and into raw skin. Instinctively, his limbs relaxed. His tail that had been wound tight around his midsection uncurled further and caused him to revolve twice more. Guldo took further advantage of the situation. He adjusted his grip on Vegeta’s now exposed, unwound tail, and hung from it as he tugged the Saiyan down.

 

“What the fuck did you do with your tail, monkey? Feels kind of moist. Yuck.” Guldo laughed as he pulled them into a freefall. 

 

Fueled by anger and pain, Vegeta whirled and kicked out, snarling. “Let go!” 

 

Yet once more, Vegeta’s foot met with air as his body was yanked around by the tail. The pain was mind-numbing, like he was a young cub again just starting his desensitization training. And he was falling, his goal moving further and further away from his reach.  _ No. No way.  _ If Vegeta let Guldo take him out like this... It would be over. All he’d worked for, everything. Gone. There was no way Vegeta was going to give up now.

 

“Hn!” he managed, halting his fall. Guldo looked at him, puzzled, and gave another experimental tug. Sweat coursed down Vegeta’s back in answer; panicked goosebumps broke out as he shivered. Yet instead of trying to lash out again Vegeta fixed his sights on the top of the canyon’s cut, and started to move up. 

 

Guldo sputtered behind him. “What’s this now, monkey? Panicking? Or are you too stubborn to see you’re not getting anywhere? You can't run from me, kid. I literally have you by the tail.”

 

Vegeta ignored the little creep, even when it started to snicker at him and yanked one-two-three in the kind of sickness-inducing waves that made his vision waiver. A moment later his men had returned to his side, fighting hard and close. For a moment Guldo was hidden behind a mass of Saiyan bodies, yet the next they careened downwards again, almost out of sight below in the dust. Getting rid of them did seem to take its toll on the creature; Guldo heaved for breath after the altercation, its grip on his tail slackened. Vegeta took advantage of the small respite to make it closer to the hole. Thirty feet, twenty...

 

“I’m getting...” Guldo huffed, “pretty tired...” Another twist and a yank that made Vegeta howl, but not stop. Fifteen feet. “Of you monkeys...” Another tug, claws digging in. Seventeen, eighteen feet. “And your stupid, bull-headed...” 

 

Twenty. No. No way. Vegeta stopped listening. He was going to make it, if it was the last thing he did. He screamed from the top of his lungs, like a man possessed, reaching, stretching. The mountains answered him, echoes came back, groaning with him. Twelve feet.

 

“Enough is...” Vegeta heard from behind him over the noise, Guldo’s gulping breaths. A quick look back showed that behind the creature his men were coming in once more. They were going to make it, he was sure. Yet again a panic filled him, this time a moment before it happened. Guldo’s hands suddenly came together and gripped his tail at two adjoining segments. The kind of grip that meant...  _ Oh, Cold he’s going to break it! He’s going to break my tail!  _ Vegeta couldn’t believe it. He was so close. So close. He could see the top of the hole. A large boulder wedged to the side of it. He was so close. So close.,. So close that he could see a figure half-under the rock, wedged between it and the wall.

 

How had Raditz got up there? He must have flown around during the time Vegeta and his men had fought. But there he was, lodged between the boulder and the cliff wall, feet pushing hard against that stone. Vegeta stopped screaming and suddenly everything happened at once.

 

The canyon around him kept screaming out echoes, louder and louder still even without Vegeta’s voice to feed it, the rock started to tumble and... Suddenly both Guldo and the rock were gone. The noises tripled, and Vegeta suddenly understood what that sound was. 

 

“Earthquake.”  But where was his enemy? Where was Guldo?

 

The sounds grew bigger, nastier, and for a whole minute the planet itself seemed to shake apart around them. More boulders and debris fell; his coming up through dust and to Vegeta’s side as they moved as a unit, back into the relative safety of the sky and its wild winds. More dust joined the wind from below, rocks and pebbles reaching after them as the walls twisted and fell like dominos.

 

When things finally started calming down, the Saiyans descended until what was left of the mountains shielded them from the winds to some degree. They didn’t dare fly lower. Several of his men already tapped their scouters to look for a power level.

 

“I think he stopped time,” Raditz called over the last rumbles, “but only for us. Not for the rocks.”

 

Vegeta looked down at the newly formed crater, down below, and saw dust rising from the canyon floor. Guldo had to be down there, if he was not coming after them. Had they killed it? Or was the little monster just taking a breather before it came at them once more? Vegeta didn’t feel like waiting to find out. “Abort mission. Back to the pods, now!”

 

A panicked rush brought them at the pods in fifteen minutes, where they had to wrestle and subdue Jack, because the big man had suddenly decided fighting to the death was better than staying in his pod.

 

They were in space, before Nion squealed: “Ginyu!”

 

“What?” Vegeta didn't need more drama from the man, but it was too late to snuff it out now. 

 

The Elder continued in a panicked hushed tone. “I knew I’d heard the name Guldo. He’s Ginyu’s fucking newest member.”

 

A cacophony of voices broke out, drowning out Vegeta’s very honest panic. If Frieza was sending out the Ginyu Force for them... Well, it was bad.

 

Nion wasn’t done yet. “Cold Lord, he’s going to X-us. Going to X-us all and keep our drooling, un-dead carcases around to entertain him...”

 

“The hell is X-ing, you old coot?” Vegeta asked, but Raditz spoke over him, uncharacteristically disrespectful. 

 

“Frieza is going to kill us all!” 

 

Again voices broke out, Nion talking gibberish about his X-ing, and Raditz repeating, over and over, “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!”

 

Vegeta took in a deep breath, assumed his commander’s voice and bellowed: “Everyone shut the FUCK UP!”

 

Finally, blissful silence. “It’s going to be fine.” He told them with a certainty he didn't feel. If they’d killed a Ginyu member.. “I’ll explain to Frieza and—”

 

Raditz, once more, interrupted: “But Frieza wants us dead! Don't you see? We have to run!”

 

Vegeta sighed heavily, calming himself. “Raditz, is this another one of your hunches?”

 

A pause on their channel. “Well. No, or, not exactly but…”

 

“Well, do you have any suggestions on where to go, Raditz?” Reason. They needed reason right now. Vegeta could be reasonable and make them all think. “Because going AWOL because of a hunch, even if those hunches have paid out before, seems a bit risky. So I’d need some sort of solid plan.”

 

“Not yet, but..”

With a slow sigh, Vegeta explained. “We won't get very far with the Ginyus on our tails. Besides, we’re can't really disappear, can we? I trusted you, Raditz, now you trust me. I got this.”

 

Another deep breath, as Vegeta allowed his men - and himself- time to adjust to this. “We’re going back to base.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [We will Survive!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17534462) by [DianaeFox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaeFox/pseuds/DianaeFox)




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